


Knowing Alice

by Banshee_Necromancer



Series: The Superwoman [1]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types, DC Extended Universe, Smallville, Suicide Squad (2016), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Female Clark Kent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:41:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26117377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Banshee_Necromancer/pseuds/Banshee_Necromancer
Summary: Clark Kent starts out his story as an angry, comfortably masculine teenager aspiring to be a jock.  Alice Kent starts out her story as a moody, self-isolating, comfortably feminine teenager aspiring to be a skater and a dancer.  From there, their stories diverge even more wildly, starting most noticeably with this: In a world where Clark Kent is both female and not interested in women... without the eternal pull of Lana Lang, just how much would her early love life change?Everything as I see it that would be different in a female Clark Kent's life - from the very beginning.Works off of Smallville, the earliest known series on Superman and his origins, and analyzes everything incredibly closely scene by scene.  Eventual crossovers with other parts of Superman mythos and with DC Comics.Characters are tagged as they appear.  First of a series.  Each season or story arc gets a book.Pairing Note: The pairings listed represent this series's final pairings, not this particular book's pairings.  All pairing characters will appear from the first book, but for reasons that will become obvious everything will be pre-pairing until later books.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Joker (DCU)/Clark Kent
Series: The Superwoman [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1896403
Comments: 10
Kudos: 37





	1. Don't Do Anything Weird

Chapter One: Don't Do Anything Weird

The bedroom was done all up in peaceful silver tones. The bed was set low against the ground and dominated most of the small space, with white sheets, white and grey pillows, a grey comforter, and a pink and grey furry throw. The curtains were always drawn over the windows, but they were white, gauzy affairs that still let light through into the space. White tulle hung from the ceiling alongside soft white fairy lights, and framed black and white posters and little pink glass and crystal knick knacks were set along a ledge above the headboard of the bed. In the corner was a small, square, metallic nightstand holding a tall pile of books and a glass of water out of which sprung freshly cut white lilies. The mirror was floor length, straight floor to ceiling, and set into the corner beside the nightstand. That was where I always stood to get ready for the day, because this was the bedroom I had when I was a teenager.

The closet stood open behind me, complete with a small rack of shoes. The shoes mostly consisted of Converse, sneakers, and simple, practical flats. The lower half of the body's wardrobe ranged between ripped leggings, checkered pants, cuffed black jeans, jean shorts, and jean skirts. The upper half ranged between tank tops, sleeveless sweaters, and quirky tees. Over that usually went a jean jacket, or occasionally a slim fit checkered sweatshirt with a grey hood. I had a large assortment of dark and purple beanies and that, for the most part, was my wardrobe. I had a couple of simple pendant necklaces that I varied between and that finished off the look.

Long sheets of straight, sleek jet-black hair fell around my face, icy pale with blue undertones and heart-shaped. Wide, liquid blue eyes peeked out from underneath all the sheets of jet-black hair, which usually covered my face. I was tiny, small and slim, built compact like a dancer and I moved like one.

My makeup usually consisted of dark red lips, boldly painted eyebrows, and lines of dark pencil eyeliner framing smokey eyes. The rest of my makeup was a pale mask, blending into my natural skin tone and high cheekbones. I finished off my makeup in the mirror that morning and then put on my usual perfume. I liked woody-smelling perfumes, and my current scent was Aurora by Electimuss. It was the first scent I had ever had for myself, and my Mom had helped me pick it out just before the school year started as a reward for reaching fifteen years old and high school age. My parents had bought me a single large bottle, less concentrated and less expensive, and warned me that it had to last at least until Christmas. Aurora was a tall, feminine pink and crystal bottle, spicy and floral with rose and patchouli as a heart. The top notes were flavored in oud and cardamom, blending with the sort of floral woody smell at the heart of the scent. The whole thing finished itself off with a kind of warm amber musk smell, and that was the finishing note anyone was left with.

I spritzed some on my neck, rubbed it in with my fingers, and then tucked the bottle carefully alongside my makeup bag in my small, plain white backpack.

I spent the last few minutes before the day really began sitting on my bed, my laptop open in front of me. I had become interested in dark academia aesthetics during one of my research projects.

I had been born with the ability to run faster than the speed of light, the strength required to lift tractors one-handed, and the ability to compartmentalize and repress different parts of my vast, interconnected mind; I could also eidetically learn languages, read about sixty pages per minute, think faster than most people, compartmentalize off my emotions in a way most people didn't seem to be able to, and I had a photographic and picture-perfect memory. Why I had been born with these abilities, I had no idea. I knew I was adopted, but as far as I knew, not in an unusual way. My parents had always told me they had adopted me from a Metropolis City charity when I was about two and a half years old. The adoption was closed and I knew nothing about my parents. So it had fallen to me to learn to control my abilities and hide them from the world. I had learned perfect control over my own strength until I could touch people as softly as silk — instead of smash all their bones and flesh to a pulp. I had learned perfect control over my own speed until I could fall behind a safe half of the pack during runs in PE class — when in reality making it from my house to town took less than a minute; it took the school bus almost twenty-five. I had learned how good was too good in academic class at school. And now, at fifteen, the only people who were any the wiser were my parents.

But naturally, I wondered. Who wouldn't wonder? There had to be somebody else out there like me, some rational explanation for what I was. Down the Internet research rabbit hole over the years, eventually I'd had two options. Either I could become a conspiracy theorist and spend my spare time looking up UFO sightings, or I could become obsessed with the dark academia aesthetic and spend all my time reading books about people whose lives were filled with odd powers and almost as strange as mine.

I chose the latter. And now, at fifteen, several years later, I was just another asshole with a dark academia aesthetic blog. True story.

Dark academia was technically defined as "an aesthetic that revolved around classic literature, the pursuit of self-discovery, and a general passion for knowledge and learning." The shelves littered around my space were a testament to my obsession.

In the books section: _Emma_ by Jane Austen, _Anna Karenina_ by Leo Tolstoy, _The Divine Comedy_ by Dante, _War and Peace_ by Leo Tolstoy, _The Beautiful and the Damned_ by F. Scott Fitzgerald, _The Secret Garden_ by Frances Hodgson Burnett, _Crime and Punishment_ by Fyodor Dostoyevsky, _Pride and Prejudice_ by Jane Austen, _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ by Oscar Wilde, _Never Let Me Go_ by Kazuo Ishiguro, _Jane Eyre_ by Charlotte Brontë, _Leaves of Grass_ by Walt Whitman, _Frankenstein_ by Mary Shelley, _Dracula_ by Bram Stoker, _A Room of One's Own_ by Virginia Woolf, _Wuthering Heights_ by Emily Brontë, _The Catcher in the Rye_ by J.D. Salinger, _The Great Gatsby_ by F. Scott Fitzgerald, _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_ by Victor Hugo, _Les Miserables_ by Victor Hugo, and some of my more modern choices included _A Series of Unfortunate Events_ by Lemony Snicket and _Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children_ by Ransom Riggs.

In the movies section: _Dead Poets Society, Northanger Abby, Black Swan, Kill Your Darlings, Only Lovers Left Alive, The Theory of Everything, Carol, Phantom of the Opera,_ and _Portrait of a Lady on Fire._ In the TV shows section: _The Alienist, Hannibal,_ and _Mindhunter._ In the music section: Hozier, The Smiths, Lorde, Joy Division, and Florence and the Machine.

I hadn't found physical similarity, in any of these things I had discovered, but I had found something I thought was at least as important, and it was emotional familiarity. I knew how that felt as a person, even if I didn't know how that felt on a physical level, and all of these artists could say the same thing about me. I hadn't expected this, but I had found a kind of joy in it, and the obsession had stuck.

So I spent the last few minutes of my morning on my blog, posting new articles, new links, new images. Dark academia _was_ an aesthetic — think of old libraries or ancient alchemical labs — and the blogs surrounding it were extensive.

"Alice Kent! You're going to be late for the bus!" my Mom called suddenly up the stairs.

I closed the laptop with a snap. "Coming, Mom!"

Down the stairs with my backpack and into the kitchen, this part of my house was filled with polished oak furnishings and bronze cookware. Vases and knick knacks my Mom had bought over the years littered the sunny yellow space, which was covered in windows to let in blinding sunlight. The curtains were checkered and past them, out the windows, was a large barn out back, a huge dirt driveway, and beyond that long green and gold fields and orchards. The green fields were full of cows. Closer by, near the wrap-around porch, was my mother's flower and herb garden filled with tall, straight sunflowers.

My Mom had shoulder-length, deep red hair and neat, deep-red lipstick. She usually wore a combination of the classy and the humble: Straight trouser cut jeans paired with a softly colored sweater and a jean jacket. She was bustling around the kitchen when I walked in.

I walked over to the fridge, knelt down to the bottom shelf, and opened a drawer. On the weekends, I would make so many pumpkin granola yogurt parfaits — one for each morning — and then I would wrap them in plastic and keep them in the freezer drawer of the refrigerator until they were needed during the week.

I sat down at the table and had just begun eating when my father walked in, fresh from work in the fields. Tall and broad-shouldered with straw gold hair and a farmer's tan, he usually wore work jackets, checkered flannel, and plain old dirty jeans. He was born on this farm, and if he had his way he would probably die on this farm, and he advertised it.

"Good afternoon, sleepyhead," he said to me sarcastically, taking off his jacket as Mom passed him a cup of coffee. "What are you eating?" he added, sounding baffled.

I bristled silently. I looked down at my food, as usual quiet and expressionless. "… Pumpkin granola yogurt parfait," I said, and went back to my eating.

"Are you aware you grew up on a farm?" he asked me teasingly.

"No offense, Dad, but I'm at that part of my teenage girl years where I'm trying to forget that part of my background," I said honestly.

"Hey!" he said indignantly.

"Actually, honey, I've got to go with her," Mom admitted. "If I were a teenage girl in high school, and I read books like _Les Miserables_ and listened to bands like Joy Division, and my favorite movie was _Dead Poets Society,_ and I dressed like I just came off a skateboarding rink? I'd probably spend a lot of my time trying to forget I grew up on a farm, too."

I smiled slightly despite myself. "Thanks, Mom." I ducked my head in amusement, my voice soft. My voice was always soft.

"Hey, there it was! An actual smile!" said my father in only slightly mock delight, pointing.

 _"Dad."_ I gave him a baleful look.

"And now he's got the point. You never look happy," said Mom pointedly.

"Sometimes you go whole mealtimes without saying a thing," said Dad with sarcasm. "It makes me feel like I'm doing something wrong as a parent." The conversation was mostly in jest, and he was in good humor as he sat down at the table next to me.

"I've tried to tell him that, from what I know of teenage girls, that probably means he's doing something _right_ as a parent. He remains unconvinced," said Mom as she continued around the kitchen.

"Well then, let me do something to waylay that," I sighed, and slid two permission slips across the table toward my parents. They looked at the slips curiously.

"… Dance and figure skating?" said Dad at last, sounding puzzled.

"The school has one team for each sport," I explained. "I… okay, look, people who do well in sports are usually more popular in school."

My parents looked up wryly. "Uh-huh," said my Mom.

"And I love sports!"

"Uh-huh."

"But if I went into a rough contact sport, I might lose control of my powers and hurt somebody."

"Uh-huh."

"But a lot of more feminine sports like this one are completely no-contact, and don't even require a remarkable amount of speed."

"Uh-huh."

"And… that would mean that I wouldn't be able to use my powers while playing them. So anything I did would be earned on my own merits."

"Uh-huh."

"And that would be… nice. It might make me feel… normal," I whispered, fiddling with my hands. I had rehearsed this speech very carefully. I winced and looked up at my parents. "So… can I?"

Mom and Dad looked at each other. Dad sighed. "If we agree to buy all this equipment, do you agree to give me a huge, honest to God smile at least once a week?" he asked.

"Dad! You want me to whore out my smiles to you?!" I said, faux scandalized.

"That's my deal!" He slapped the table. "Take it or leave it!"

I leaned back in my chair, huffed — and smiled, a genuine smile. "Fine," I muttered. Looking victorious, Dad began to sign the permission slips. Mom rolled her eyes and walked away.

"I'll take you shopping for shoes, skates, and uniforms later," she called over her shoulder. I felt a jump of victory in my stomach and the smile on my face turned a little wider and more genuine. "Oh, and Alice? I suppose they'll be having tryouts this afternoon?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?" I said, surprised.

"Oh, that you'd wait until the last minute to work up the nerve to ask? Gee, I don't know, it's almost like I raised you," said Mom with good-natured sarcasm, looking back over her shoulder. "Look, my point is, stop by the grocery store on your way home. I have class tonight, so you two are on your own. Make dinner for your father so he doesn't order pizza, okay?"

"Got it," I said, vaguely amused.

"How are you going to try out without equipment, out of idle curiosity?" she said. "I assume you worked that into your brilliant master plan?"

"I asked, and they said they don't expect people to buy equipment without ever trying out," I explained, the brand-new nervousness of the coming tryouts now stretching out vast before me. "They have school equipment we can use until we know for sure."

"Then there you go." Dad handed over the slips. "Don't do anything weird."

"Yes, Dad."

"Hurry up or you'll be late!" said my Mom. I took my last bites of yogurt and granola as she hurried me out the back door.


	2. On Top of the World

Chapter Two: On Top of the World

I walked around my house and out to the dirt front lot. Underneath the wooden archway in which were carved the words _The Kent Farm,_ there was only a red mailbox and, beyond that, the long dirt road through cornfields that was Hickory Lane. It led into town.

And the school bus was up the road in a cloud of dust, having already left my stop.

I jogged towards the road at human speeds, but it was no use. I had missed the bus. It happened a lot. I wasn't exactly great at waking up in the morning and getting to school on time. Looking after the bus, for seconds I faced the unappealing prospect of going back inside and telling my parents I needed a ride…

Then I considered something and smiled. If I ran fast enough, I moved so fast the world slowed down and stopped, so fast no one could even see me. If I ran fast enough, especially through the cornfields, no one would see me pass the bus.

Yeah. I could make it to school on time. I'd just have to use my powers.

I moved, and the world stopped. Bugs froze in mid-air. Stalks of corn froze mid-wind. I ran through the fields, sprinting at top speed, whooping and laughing, jumping high into the air with my strength and then letting myself land again.

I passed by the first sign:

_Welcome to Smallville, Kansas! Meteor Capital of the World! Pop. 45,001._

The sign referred to the Smallville meteor shower. About twelve years ago, a freak meteor shower had rained down over Smallville, Kansas. People were killed, buildings were destroyed, half the historical town hall was laid to ruins, and so many water towers had been taken out that the county was without running water for a week. _Heartbreak in the Heartland_ had been all over national headlines for the ten minutes it had taken for a politician to be caught letting prostitutes pee all over them, and then the news cycle had forgotten the meteor shower and moved on to something else. But not Smallville. That meteor shower was the most exciting thing that had ever happened in Smallville, Kansas. Hence the sign.

I moved to run beside the bus, which was at a stand-still, laughing as I passed different students with their mouths frozen in mid-expression, arms paused mid-gesture. I jumped clean over the bus, tapped my feet once against the roof, and then moved to the fields on the other side of the road, still sprinting and laughing.

I only passed one other important sign on my way into town: _Pleasant Meadows. Another Luthor Corp Project. New Homes Starting At $245,000. Making America A Better Place to Live._

Luthor Corp was all over Smallville. It owned the local fertilizer plant, half the industrial cornfields, and a good portion of the available real estate land for building homes. Luthor Corp was based out of Metropolis City, run by the iron fist of Lionel Luthor, and rumors had it that the family were at least millionaires. But it was all over the news that he had just sent his son Lex, who was in his twenties, to live in Smallville and personally run Luthor Corp's interests there himself. People were speculating that Lionel Luthor wanted to put more focus on Smallville and expand, and my Dad had muttered darkly when he read about it in the newspaper. Most people who chose to live in Smallville weren't particularly excited when they heard the word _expansion._

I entered the town of Smallville far before the bus. Small, cozy streets and quaint little buildings dominated Smallville's landscape in clear air and under open blue skies. Everything was quiet. The number of people on the streets were sparse. Beat-up old cars occasionally passed by in the quiet.

I made it to the Smallville High campus about twenty minutes before the bus. It was simple and uninspired, a massive, square indoor building with squeaky, lifeless linoleum hallways. Set around the main building were other adjacent buildings, a football stadium, a basketball court, and a large, concrete and grass front quad that led up to a series of stone steps into the main building. _Let's Go Crows!_ said a perpetual red and gold sign hung above the huge front doors, Smallville High's emblem and colors all neatly encapsulated in a single print. It was a basic campus with a basic name. Smallville only had the one high school, so naming it had been easy.

I stopped behind a building and moved back to normal speed where no one could see me. Movement started up again, a chatter of voices and shrieks of laughter suddenly all around me. I ducked out from behind the building, went up the front steps and through the doors, and slipped unnoticed through the crowds to my locker. I got my things, shut and locked it, and went back out of the building and down the front steps into the quad to go find my friends.

I found Chloe and Pete walking along together, talking animatedly. Chloe was a small, petite firebrand pixie with short, spiky blonde hair in colorful vintage clothes. Pete was a round-faced Black boy with an uproarious sense of humor; we had been friends since we were toddlers, my family was friends with his, one of the oldest in Smallville, and his Mom was a judge.

I walked up to them holding my books. "Hi, guys."

"Didn't you — weren't you just — you missed the bus. We saw you," said Chloe, baffled.

"We laughed at you," Pete added helpfully. "We had a bet going for whether or not you'd show in time. I won," he added proudly.

"How did you get here before us?" Chloe demanded.

"I took a shortcut," I said evasively, shrugging.

"Through what?" said Chloe incredulously. "A black hole?"

"Alice, you'll have to excuse our intrepid reporter, brave and bold new editor of the Smallville High _Torch._ It seems as though her Weirdar is on Def Con 5. She thought someone was attacking the bus!" He laughed.

My eyes widened innocently.

"Okay!" Chloe stormed around to get right in our faces, a manic gleam in her eye. "Just because everyone else chooses to ignore the strange things that happen in this leafy little hamlet, doesn't mean that they don't happen! Something weird is going on in this town, and _I'm going to figure out what it is!"_ She got right in my face, not realizing she was actually glaring at what was probably the weirdest thing that was going on in this town.

"I have faith in you, Chloe," I said calmly. "By the way, how many Cappuccinos have you had so far today?"

Chloe frowned, puzzled. "Two. Why?"

"No reason," I said, clapping her on the shoulder as Pete started laughing.

"Now, Chloe, you know I'd love to join you and Scooby inside the Mystery Machine for another zany adventure," said Pete. "But I have to hand in this permission slip before homeroom."

"I have slips to hand in, too. What are you trying out for?" I asked curiously.

"Football," said Pete, shrugging. "You?"

"Dance and figure skating," I said.

"Nice," he congratulated me, sounding impressed.

"Hey, hey, Pete, I refuse to date a football player! It's against my code of ethics!" Chloe blurted out heatedly. She stopped and slowly turned very red as Pete sighed and put his face in his hand.

I looked between them, wide-eyed. I had had _no_ idea my two best friends were dating.

"Is there… something you guys want to tell me?" I said sarcastically.

"It's not a big deal," said Pete.

"Pete just asked me to the Homecoming Dance," Chloe muttered, still blushing.

I looked between them — and smiled kindly. "Well, that's great," I said truthfully. "But fair warning. If you guys start doing long make-out sessions in front of me, I'm officially leaving the group."

"Duly noted," said Pete brightly.

"If I ever start doing long public make-out sessions with anybody, I want you to kill me," said Chloe fervently.

"It's too early in the morning to be contemplating murder, Chloe," I said with equal fervency.

"So… you're not bothered?" She winced. "I mean, you and Pete are from two of the oldest families in Smallville, and you've been best friends ever since your parents adopted you, and that's practically forever, and your parents are always teasing you about growing up and falling in love… I just… wasn't sure how you'd react," she admitted.

"Pete's like my brother," I said, shrugging. "The idea of dating him would just be weird. I'm happy for you guys. I'm also happy for me. Maybe now my Dad will finally stop hinting about a future wedding ceremony with Pete Ross."

"Yeah, and maybe my Mom will do the same," said Pete, wide-eyed. "Wouldn't that be a happy day."

"Has anybody asked you to the Homecoming Dance?" Chloe asked me.

"No, not yet," I said, shrugging.

"But you're trying out for dance and figure skating. And that is actually awesome," she admitted. Then she leaned over me to Pete. "But I'm not letting this one go, Pete. I mean, my sense of ethics aside… _You're_ trying out for the _football team?"_ She smirked. "As the editor of _The Torch,_ Pete, I feel like I have to share the school's suicide hotline number with you."

"It's true you're not very… big," I tried to say diplomatically and carefully.

Pete glared around furiously and then pulled the two of us off to the side, as if sharing an enormous secret. He looked around and said in a low voice, "I'm trying to avoid becoming this year's Scarecrow."

I winced. "Oh, Chloe, you've got to give him this one," I admitted.

"Why do I have to do that, and WHY ARE WE WHISPERING?!" said Chloe pointedly.

"It's a Homecoming tradition," said Pete in a low voice. "Every year before the big game, the football players select a freshman boy, take him out to Reilly Field, strip him down to his boxers, and then paint an S on his chest."

"And then string him up like a Scarecrow," I finished sympathetically. "The poor sucker is left there all night. Hanging."

"Jeez," Chloe said in fascinated disgust, "it sounds like years of therapy waiting to happen."

"Why do you think I'm trying out for the team?" Pete shrugged. "Figure they won't choose one of their own."

"Aww, so I have to be dating a _football player from one of Smallville's oldest families?"_ said Chloe in despair.

"Read it and weep," said Pete, grinning and holding up the permission slip.

"Your Dad will be so proud," I said in a sickly sweet tone of voice.

"Say that to me one more time, Kent, and I'll kill you instead," said Chloe darkly, and I grinned.

I was laughing and backing up, still walking along with my friends, when I felt myself back right into someone. I paused in surprise as they shoved into me and all my books slipped out of my hands. He whirled around and said, "Oh — sorry —!" Our eyes met and we looked up at one another.

I was doomed from the start, because for a small-town girl who had never dated anyone before, he had the whole package. I'm talking the "I see the mistake coming and I'm still about to make it" package. He was a tall pretty-boy, dark-haired with a faint Italian accent. He wore casually masculine dark clothes, black jeans and tees with a black jacket. A casual, confident smirk rested easily on his face; he had smoldering dark eyes and a guitar slung over his shoulder, a whole group of guys behind him.

I flushed and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, lowering my eyes as I bent down to pick up my fallen books, nervous flutterings in my stomach. To my surprise, he bent down to help me. When I looked up at him, I could see him looking me up-and-down, giving me the once-over. No one had ever done that before, at least not that… openly.

He looked at my top two books — smiled slightly as he handed them back to me. "Are those for fun?" he asked, pointing.

"Sort of," I admitted. "This one is about Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera. This one is about Simone de Beauvoir and Jean-Paul Sartre. They're two of the most famous historical artistic and philosophical power couples of, I'd say about the last hundred years. That interests me."

"Because you have delusions of power?" He was teasing me.

"Maybe," I said, smiling. "But I also like the idea of these two incredibly creative people working off of each other in perfect unison. I like the idea of being in the kind of couple where the other person gets it because they're doing the exact same thing."

"And what are you doing?" he asked me as we stood up, me still clutching my fallen books.

"Um… well, I'm trying out for the figure skating and dance teams today," I said.

"Performance," he said approvingly. "I'm in a band." He pointed behind him. "We want to be something. Monsters Due."

"I can't tell if that's a come-on or an advertisement for a show you're doing next Friday," I admitted, smirking.

"A little of both."

I laughed. "That's such a dick thing to say!"

"Ah, but it got you to laugh!" he said with a grin. And, yes, he was looking at me with actual interest. Standing between him and sweet-faced, funny, slightly nerdy Pete Ross, I knew who my Dad would have wanted me to pick.

And that kind of excited me. Because what girl wanted to grow up to marry the guy her Daddy wanted her to marry?

"Okay, I give. What's your name?" I said.

"Dominic," he said. "Dominic Russo."

"Alice. Alice Kent," I returned. "You're from Italy."

"Spent my entire childhood there. You?"

"I… want to see the entire world, and I was born and raised in Smallville, Kansas," I said with a self-deprecating smile. "My family runs a farm. I think the first time I invited my friend Chloe over, she'd just moved here from Metropolis and she thought we were actually Amish."

It was my turn. Dominic laughed, as if despite himself.

"Yeah, I moved here with my Mom," he said. "She runs a restaurant in town."

"What's your favorite meal there?" I said immediately.

"It's not really a meal." He shrugged. "Cannoli and a cup of coffee. Perfect. Over a sci-fi show? That's the dream."

"You like sci-fi?"

"Sci-fi, mystery shows. I like… exploring the unusual, finding things out," he decided. "The weirder, the better."

"Are you into the avant-garde?"

"Occasionally." He shrugged. "Shock performance art is pretty interesting."

"I like talking about the messages afterwards. Shock performance art can be controversial," I said.

"So you like arguing." He grinned.

"I care about social issues," I argued back, surprising myself by how fiery I was.

"So you listen to what society tells you is the right thing."

"Not necessarily." I lifted my chin. "I listen to what _I_ tell me is the right thing."

"… I can respect that," he admitted, and his eyes were warm; he sounded genuine. "We agree there, I think. Do you like music?"

"I do."

"What do you listen to?"

"My top five are Hozier, Lorde, Florence and the Machine, The Smiths, and Joy Division," I said.

"And is that what you'd perform to?" he asked.

"No," I admitted thoughtfully. "When I picture myself dancing, it's usually to something soft and moody. Maybe smooth and electronic. _folklore._ _Kamikaze_ by —,"

"Mo," he finished neatly.

"You know that," I said, surprised and impressed.

He grinned. "It's music. I know everything when it comes to music."

"You're also very humble," I congratulated him in amusement.

"Yet another one of my many talents," he said dryly. I laughed. "So, you should come to one of my shows sometime."

"Should I?" I said playfully, my eyes dancing.

"Yeah. We play a lot at coffee shops and places like that. Sometimes go to Metropolis. You should come to a show," he said decisively. "We're really good."

"Again with that humility," I laughed. "Okay, well… how will I know where you're playing?"

"We should exchange phone numbers," he said immediately, and held out his hand.

Surprising myself, I handed over my cell phone. He handed over his and we exchanged numbers.

"Fair warning. I text a _lot,"_ he said honestly. "Expect random texts throughout the day."

"I come prepared," I said teasingly.

"Are these your friends?" he said suddenly, waving to Chloe and Pete, who I suddenly realized were watching us in endless surprise.

"My closest," I admitted. "That's Chloe and that's Pete. They're dating." Chloe and Pete waved uncertainly.

"My band back there." He waved in turn. "That's Tyler, that's Jared, and that's April. She plays lead guitar."

"You have a girl in your band. That's not always popular." I was testing him.

"I don't give a shit about what's popular," he said scathingly.

He passed. I smiled warmly.

He seemed to be propelled on by literally any amount of interest. Dominic tried hard to be cool, but there was a lot of life to him. "I give so few shits about what's popular," he said gleefully, "that I once missed out on an assembly and a teacher found me wandering the empty halls. She asked me why I hadn't gone to the auditorium with everyone else. I shrugged and said, I figured everyone was just going in a certain direction and I decided that wasn't where I wanted to be." I laughed, despite myself. "She called me James Dean and gave me a detention anyway." He shrugged and grinned.

Then he surprised me — reached his hand forward and touched mine, as if testing the waters. I didn't pull my hand back, but I paused in surprise, my eyes flying wide open.

"You're very beautiful," he said directly, in that honest way that seemed to come effortlessly to Dominic. He seemed to be incredibly matter of fact about everything. "I am very interested in you. Romantically." He made sure there was no room for error. "Are you interested in me?"

Well, that was direct.

"… I might be," I said playfully, shy but smiling, my eyes shining.

Dominic looked close in my eyes — nodded and smiled confidently. "Do you want to go to the Homecoming Dance," he said, "Alice? I have a car. I could pick you up the night of."

"I…" I thought about it, recognized that this would probably lead to a relationship — my very first. "I would love to, Dominic," I finally said, quietly and warmly. "Yeah. That'd be great." I fluttered nervously, suddenly smiling bigger than I had in weeks.

"… Good," said Dominic, still in that confident, strutting way, and then a bright, sunny, goofy grin burst over his handsome features as if despite itself. "I'll text you later, and… I'll see you around."

"See you around," I said, surprised. I watched in surprise as he and his friends all walked away, his friends all smirking wryly.

"… So," said Chloe behind me at last. _"That_ just happened."

I turned around to my friends, flushed and beaming. "Yeah!" I said in excitement. "It did!"

Then Chloe and I were squealing and hugging each other. Pete rolled his eyes and smiled, standing back and letting us have our moment.

Chloe leaned back. "So… I didn't know whether or not to offer until you found a date… But my Dad offered to take me and my closest friend dress shopping. You know, he's a single Dad, and I think sometimes he worries I don't make enough friends at school." She shrugged.

"He's the manager at the Luthor Corp plant," I said, interested.

"Which means he has the money to buy us really nice dresses? Yeah, it does," Chloe laughed, grinning.

"Sure, I'd love to go dress shopping with you, Chloe. Oh, and not… just for that reason," I added sheepishly.

Chloe laughed. "Yeah, I get it," she said, and me and my two best friends fell back into step beside each other again. "Anyway, how did _that_ happen? How did I get a date to the dance with your boyfriend, and you got a date to the dance with mine?"

"I… I don't know," I breathed, smiling at nothing and filled with awe.

Then the bell rang.

"You guys have got to turn in your permission slips! Go! Run!" Chloe laughed, and Pete and I sprinted up the steps and into the halls with our permission slips. We ran into the front office and I said hurriedly, "I need to turn in these slips. One for dance and one for figure skating."

The secretary took the slips. "Those tryouts start this afternoon. You're cutting it very close," she sighed, shaking her head.

"But I made it?" I said on tenterhooks.

"Just in time. You made it," she said, and she handed me the paperwork I'd need to get into the dance and figure skating tryouts at the end of the school day.

As I was taking deep breaths of relief and walking towards my homeroom, I got a text. I opened up my phone and looked at it. It was from Dominic.

_My favorite part about you was your eyes. They sparkle like galaxies._

Was it extremely forward? Yes. But that was probably good for me. Shy, underconfident, and not that forward myself, I suddenly saw myself as attractive, in new ways I never had before. It was like I was seeing myself in a whole new way.

And it was poetic. What girl wasn't a sucker for that?

I sighed, smiled, and typed into my phone to text back. I dared to say playfully, _Your eyes smolder like coals. How is homeroom?_

I shut my phone hurriedly as I walked into class late. Everyone stared at me as I walked in. I knew I was flushed and smiling, and I felt like a whole new me had just walked into that classroom.

"Kent, you're late," said my homeroom teacher flatly. "Don't make a regular habit of it."

"Yes, ma'am," I said immediately, grinning to myself as I found my usual seat. I felt someone kick the seat behind me. I looked around to see Chloe smirking at me in congratulations. I grinned.

They were little things, in retrospect, but at fifteen I felt like I was on top of the world.


	3. Tryouts

Chapter Three: Tryouts

Dance team met after school in the dance studio on campus, a vast wooden floor with a barre on either side and a wall of mirrors facing front by the door into the room. Everyone either dressed in or was given a black dance leotard and tights and white dancing shoes to lace up. Every single girl tied her hair up into a tight bun behind her head.

I walked the dance studio, looking around me at the other boys and girls. I had expected the girls to outnumber the boys, but for the most part they didn't. There was a low murmur of chatter in the room, but everyone was eyeing each other cagily, and several people were pacing the way I was. We all knew there were only so many spots open on Smallville High's dance team this year. And if we didn't get in, we could kiss goodbye to any chance we might have had of dancing professionally or in college varsity.

Finally, the coach, a muscular, curvy blonde woman, clapped her hands in her own dance uniform and everyone gathered around her.

"My name is Lisa Hardner," she said, "and I'm Smallville High's dance team coach. Now, the way this works is that you can tryout for one of three elements. The first is competition. You perform in competitions across the country with other dance teams and, if you're good enough, with other solo dancers. The second is performance. The focus here is not on beating the other team, but on giving a beautiful recital of abilities one's own self. This part of the team also travels the country, and also performs both in groups and, if you're good enough, solo. Now, the final element you can tryout for is school spirit. In this case, you would be a team traveling with the football and basketball teams, working alongside their cheerleaders but in a different kind of dance capacity.

"Once you decide what element you want to try out for, we start our tryouts. In every case, I will be running you through the basic skills of a dance squad: precise, synchronized motions as well as technical dance skills like jumps, turns, and leaps. Are you required to have any of these skills mastered yet? Not necessarily, but some ability in them would be nice.

"If you make it through tryouts, there are various dance genres within each element or 'team.' Different people choose different genre specialties. You will start out on a synchronized team and then, if you work hard, you may eventually be awarded solo performances. So what this means is that if you make it through tryouts, you have to tell me what dance genres you want to specialize in. Typically, I recommend one single-person style of dancing and one couple style of dancing.

"These tryouts will be physically rigorous, and there is a reason for that. If you are not physically healthy and in shape — which is different from being thin — participation in this squad will be very, very hard for you.

"Any questions?" She looked around at everybody. "Okay! Let's get started!" And she took up her clipboard. "I will list your names surname-alphabetically. When I call your name, say either competition, performance, or school spirit."

I listened, bouncing a little nervously on my feet, until she finally got to my name.

"Alice Kent!"

I swallowed. "Performance," I called, in a voice louder than my usual one. I had made this final decision about a week ago.

She nodded and scribbled on her clipboard, putting my name in the performance category.

Once everyone was listed, the tryouts began.

Competition went first, so, sitting off to the sidelines, I had a preview of what I would be put through. Lisa put the people in lines and took them through a routine to a song that didn't exactly have a calm, easy tempo — she chose "Crazy=Genius" by Panic! At the Disco, and it was _fast,_ especially for beginners. She had one of her older students take them through a long series of precise, synchronized motions and smooth formations along to the music, with the occasional jump or leap thrown in just to keep the dancers off-balance. The older girl danced up at the front, and the point was simply to follow her lead, but for beginning dancers there was nothing truly 'simple' about it. Some people were very good, following along pretty well, and others were terrible — clumsy, stumbling, and always off-beat, out of synchronization with the rest. The tryout went on so long for the competition sector that by the end even the fit people were sweating.

"Next! Performance!"

And that was my queue.

I got into a row near the middle. I had no idea how I would do. I had taken dance lessons just like every six year old girl seemed to, but aside from slumber parties I had done shit-all since then. The same song began — "You can set yourself on fire… You can set yourself on fire… She said, 'At night in my dreams, you dance on a tightrope of weird, but when I wake up you're so normal that you just disappear…'" — but the dance was different this time, which I supposed made sense. It wouldn't have been fair to competition if performance got a preview of what they would actually be asked to do.

I tried to zero out everything else and focus on three things — the tempo of the music, the people around me, and the girl up at the front. Eventually I fell into this weird kind of zone where the only point was the next move… the next move… the next move… and when the song ended and I stopped, I realized in a panic that I had no honest idea how well I'd done.

"Next! School spirit!"

And then performance was shuffled off of the dance floor.

When school spirit was finished, there was a five-minute interval while Lisa shuffled things around with her pencil on her clipboard. She had watched all three sets of tryouts like a hawk, walking back and forth down the rows and watching each dancer incredibly closely. By the end, she had made her decision. We all gathered around her.

"Every name I now announce made it through," she said. "You will start on the synchronized team of whatever element you chose." She went through competition first. Different people swore or cheered as they were or were not called. Then she got to performance. Sitting near her, I crossed my fingers in my lap. She named three other names — and then it happened. "Alice Kent — Performance!"

I sighed and relaxed, a beam coming over my features as I just bent over in half and fell face-first onto the floor in relief. Mine was not the only visible sign of relief I saw in the tryout rooms that afternoon.

"Thank you, everyone, for trying out," said Lisa Hardner at the end. "All those who made it into dance, gather around me."

I gathered with the other dancers who had made it around Lisa.

"You need to decide what genres you're specializing in — I recommend one for single dancing and one for couple dancing," said Lisa. "For this, you have an individual form. I will write your name in pen at the top and hand it over. You fill out the form telling me what you passed into and what genres you're specializing in. You hand the form back to me, get back undressed into your street clothes, and it's over. Well done. We start practice twice a week."

I took my form and sat down, filling it out. _Alice Kent,_ said my name in pen at the top. Beaming, I proudly wrote down, _Performance,_ and then I scanned the dance genres in display on the checklist. _Ballet, Jazz, Hip-Hop, Ballet/Modern, Jazz/Modern,_ were in the singles category. I checked _Ballet/Modern_ after some deliberation, and then I moved on. The couples category covered everything from ballroom to salsa and swing. I checked _Swing_ in the couples category and then handed my form back to Lisa.

"Thank you, Kent," she said, nodding to me. I smiled, nodded to her, and walked away to get undressed into my street-clothes still smiling to myself. I had made at least one of the two teams. I was a dancer.

Then I walked directly to the school's indoor skating rink, where our hockey team played for a certain portion of the year, to try out for figure skating.

When I walked in, 5 Seconds of Summer's "Teeth" was playing on the overhead speakers and that was about the time I figured out this tryout wasn't going to be any easier than the last one. It was a good skating song — it had a solid, soaring beat punctuated by sudden explosions perfect for jumps, spins, and leaps — but it wasn't exactly the timid little tune I remembered from ice skating classes as a little kid.

I went back into the locker rooms by the skating rink, stripped, and got dressed in a similar uniform to dance — leotard, tights, and I kept my hair up in a tight bun — but this time I put on figure skates. I hobbled out to the edge of the skating rink and then slowly pushed off from the edge, ghosting out onto the ice. The music had been turned off at some point.

Luckily, basic skating turned out to be like learning how to swim or ride a bike. Once you learned, you never really stopped knowing. I skated slowly in broad strokes out to the center of the rink, where a small, round-faced Asian woman was waiting.

"Part one passed!" she called as everyone gathered around her. "Skating to the center of the rink!"

There were a few nervous chuckles.

"Now everyone fall over!" she called suddenly.

We all immediately fell over on our butts.

"Get back up!"

We clambered to our feet, getting onto our knees and then pushing back up onto our skates.

"Very good," she called. "My name is Sarah Paulina, and I will be your instructor and figure skating coach. Now, I have a clipboard of names here with me — alphabetical by surname. I will call your name, and you will tell me whether you are trying out for single or couple figure skating."

She read down the list of names.

"Alice Kent!" she eventually called.

"Single," I called back. This, I had also decided a week in advance. She nodded and put, _Single,_ next to my name.

"The next thing we are going to do," she called out in a ringing voice, "is skate around the rink, over and over, countless times. After that, we do tryouts. Why do we do this? Because we need to know you are physically fit before we agree to let you be on our figure skating team. Are we clear? So get started! Go! Do laps!"

I did laps with the other girls around the rink. The laps did seem to go on for a long time, though of course I never really got winded.

Finally, we skated back to the center of the ice. "Singles first. Line up!" Sarah called. Everyone trying out for singles lined up in a row on the ice. The couples skaters skated off to sit on the benches surrounding the rink.

"Singles," Sarah called to us. "Come forward one at a time. As I watch, you skate a straight line, forward halfway across, backward the other half of the way across. Then skate back across the rink in another line, but as you do try to make a figure eight on the ice. Then you reach the middle. In the middle, you try for a simple jump. If you can't do it yet, you're not automatically knocked out. Then you try to make another figure eight, and that's when you make it back to your original place on this side of the rink.

"We will keep the music playing on repeat throughout these tryouts, so that we can get a clear sense of whether or not you can basically skate to music."

Sarah waved up at the stands and all of a sudden the same music blasted over the speakers again. We all lined up, and went across the ice one at a time.

When it was my turn, I took a deep breath and skated out onto the rink. Sarah seemed to value boldness, bravery, so that was what I tried for. I skated forward halfway across the ice to the basic beat of the music. That was the easy part. Then I turned around, and tried to skate steadily backwards the other half of the way across.

So far so good.

I hit the wall and stopped myself, rather clumsily. Then I skated forward, made a slow and careful and rather clumsy figure eight. Halfway across, I tried to jump, and for me it wasn't that impressive — I barely managed to get into the air and then make it back down again on my skates. Hardly the epitome of elegance. Still, I'd done it. Then I made another slow, clumsy figure eight and I was back with the line again.

Sarah nodded, and as the music continued, I skated off to the side with the other finished skaters.

At the end, Sarah made a wave at the stands and the music ground to a halt. She looked down at her clipboard, scribbled down a few things, and then called, "Four new people made it into singles: Alice Kent!" And then she called three other names. Only being on skates kept me from jumping up and down, exultant.

At the end, she looked up and said, "We meet twice a week for practice. Singles can leave. Thank you all for trying out."

Smiling to myself, my confidence slowly increasing, I skated off the rink and then reached the wall, hobbling back to the lockers to change back into my street clothes.

I had made both teams — dance and figure skating — and I had done it all entirely without my powers. And I had been right. That _did_ feel good.

As I walked back out of the skating rink with my street clothes and my backpack, the only thought in my mind was that I had to stop for groceries and then walk home. And for once, I couldn't wait to tell at least my Dad proudly all about my day.


	4. Angel

Chapter Four: Angel

I took the back way home, walking through the woods surrounding Smallville's long, vast swathes of fields and farmland. A vast green woodland and a river ringed Smallville County's entire landscape in a warm embrace. The local graveyard was here; so was the local Native American reservation. But there was a lot to it besides that. At the end of the day, I found myself walking the forested pathway leading to the bridge over the local river.

I put down my backpack and my bags of groceries beside me in the bike lane, leaning over the edge of the bridge to gaze out over the river rushing by below. The whitewater rapids churned by below me, white foam crashing against sharp, jagged edges of rock. The clear, misty forest air was around me and everything was so, so quiet.

I was pensive, at peace. I'd had a very good day, and I smiled daydreaming as I leaned against the railing, gazing into the distance and pondering over it happily.

I heard a screech of tires and I looked around.

Someone in a blue sports car — a Porsche — was going down the road at sixty miles an hour. The car wasn't the only thing that told me he wasn't from around here. No one local drove these kinds of back roads at that speed. There was too much potential for debris, or sudden animals.

The man was looking down at his cell phone as he drove. Typical. He looked up at the last minute and, of course, a piece of debris had fallen right there on the bridge in front of him. It was big; it looked almost like a metal coil, probably fallen from the bed of someone's pickup truck. The man panicked, frantically trying to pump the brakes and switch gears. It was no use — his car hit the coil and started skidding; the driver had totally lost control. And the car went straight towards me. The driver looked up in panic, and our eyes met. I have a split second image of a young man, bald and pale with icy blue eyes, handsome, maybe in his twenties. His eyes were wide, his face was white as a sheet. His car was about to hit a fifteen year old girl, frozen in panic in the bike lane, at sixty miles an hour.

It is very important that I make what happens next absolutely clear. You are expecting me to say that I jumped out of the way of the car in time. That was what I told the police. I jumped out of the way of the car in time. That was what I told the driver. I jumped out of the way of the car in time.

But this one thing has to be absolutely understood, for the context of the rest of the story to make sense.

I did not jump out of the way of the car in time. The car hit me.

-

I woke up to find myself floating in river water. I was not injured. I was not breathing. I did not seem bothered by the fact that I wasn't breathing. None of this made any sense to me whatsoever.

And then I remembered the driver.

I straightened in the river and saw the sports car floating in the water a ways in front of me. The driver's head was bobbing against the black leather seat. Bubbles were coming out of his mouth. His cell phone floated uselessly next to his head.

I swam with strong strokes through the water towards him, going so fast a jet stream of bubbles issued out from my feet. I was there in seconds. I pulled the roof off of the car, peeling it back like the lid of a tin can and throwing it away from me. I ripped the driver's seat belt apart, grabbed him underneath the armpits, and swam up with him until we hit open air with a gasp.

Well, _I_ gasped. He wasn't breathing.

I swam with him against the current over to the shore and dragged him up onto the muddy embankment on his back. I put my lips to his ear — no sound, no breath. I opened his lips, breathed into his mouth, and then pumped his chest. It didn't seem to be working. The man in front of me was functionally dead.

"Let's see. Who are you," I muttered, to myself as much as to him, as I continued my CPR. "I guess I should know. That was the first time my lips have ever touched a man's! Introductions are a must, right? Um, let's see… You're wearing black silk dress casual business clothes. Black leather driving gloves. You were driving a blue Porsche. You're bald, but you're clearly not a skinhead. You don't seem to be sick. But you're probably really rich." I realized tears were choking my voice, tears of panic. "Oh, God, you're probably really rich. People are going to kill me." I breathed into his mouth, pumped his chest again. "Come on. Please don't die on me," I begged.

I had been using a carefully controlled amount of pressure during my CPR, for obvious reasons. If I used all my strength, I'd crush all his ribs and smash his heart and his lungs. But I dared to _push_ just that little bit harder once, thumping him in the chest —

"Come on!" I growled, getting angry.

And the man's blue eyes flew open. I turned him quickly over onto his side and he began coughing up water and bile onto the muddy embankment. As I turned him, I felt his heart start again in his chest.

I sighed and leaned back onto my heels, almost weak with relief. "Oh, thank God," I whispered at the clear, open blue Kansas skies.

And there it was. The first life I ever saved.

The man finally leaned back to lay on his back, taking deep breaths. His eyes scanned the blue skies above him… and then landed on me, soaking wet, young, and shaken.

"… Are you an angel?" was the first thing that came out of his mouth.

I blinked.

"Because I didn't think I'd be able to get into Heaven," he began babbling. "Is this Hell? Are you a demon? Are you here to torture me —?"

I smiled and put a hand over his mouth, my eyes dancing teasingly. "Sir," I said, amused despite myself, "you're going to want to stop talking. You just lost a lot of oxygen."

The man seemed to come back to himself, and I took my hand away again.

"… Right. Thanks," he muttered, obviously trying to gather himself. "You're the girl from the bridge."

"The one and only. I jumped out of the way of the car and then dove in after you."

"That was brave," he admitted, and it sounded honest. "You know, it's weird. Everything happened so fast, I could have sworn I hit you. Just before my head hit the steering wheel and I blacked out. I thought I'd made contact."

"Nah." I grinned and shook my head. "I mean, if you hit me, I'd be —,"

And that was when I realized what I was supposed to be. A hard ball of cold fear filled my stomach. I looked back at the mangled railing of the bridge, my eyes wide and vulnerable but turned where the driver couldn't see them.

"… I'd be dead," I whispered.

-

Half an hour later, I was sitting off to the side of the riverbank wrapped in a shock blanket. My backpack and groceries, miraculously unharmed, now sat beside me. Policemen and ambulance first responders were crawling all over the riverbank and the bridge above. Machinery was slowly pulling the sports car out of the river. About five different people were tending to the driver on another part of the riverbank.

Suddenly, my Dad's beat-up old red truck skidded to a halt on the road above. He slid down the riverbank towards me. Within seconds he was there and right up in my face, putting careful hands on either side of it, as if I were precious and breakable. His eyes were wide and frantic.

"Alice! Honey, are you alright?" he said.

"Yeah, I'm okay," I confirmed quietly, nodding.

My Dad whirled around to the nearest State Trooper, demanding angrily, "Who was the maniac driving that car?!"

"That would be me. Lex Luthor." The driver, whose name was now accounted for and city wealth explained, had brushed everyone aside, shock blanket over his shoulders, and walked over, reaching out to shake my father's hand.

My Dad gave Lex Luthor an extremely ugly look, staring him up and down once. He didn't take the hand. Instead, he turned fully away from Lex and took off his jacket, bending down to wrap it around my shoulders.

Lex slowly lowered his hand. For the first time, I saw his confidence in his own name, status, and wealth shaken.

I turned to stare at my shoes.

As my Dad made to stand me up and lead me away, Lex said to me, "Thank you for saving my life."

"I'm sure you would have done the same thing," I said simply, soft-spoken once more, long sheets of dark hair coming forward to hide my face again.

And then me and my father began to walk away back up the embankment.

Lex unwisely followed us. "You have quite an extraordinary daughter, Mr. Kent. If there's any way I can repay you —,"

Dad stopped and turned to look Lex dead in the eye. "Drive slower," he said icily.

And then me and my father left, with Lex staring after us as if he'd never seen anything quite like us before.

I would not realize for a long time that most people would have asked for a reward.


	5. Never Have I Ever Before

Chapter Five: Never Have I Ever Before

My Mom came home early from her night class, driving home as fast as she could when she got the phone call that I'd been in an accident. My parents sat in that same kitchen that night in disbelief as I told them about the whole day — leaving out the part where the car had hit me, making it seem like what I had told Lex was true, that I had just jumped in after the driver to save him.

"So, let me see if I have all this right," said Mom in disbelief. "You have a date to the dance —,"

"And it's not Pete Ross," Dad muttered, scowling. "It's a rebellious Italian boy in a rock band called _Monsters Due._ His Mom runs Russo's in town. And he has a _car."_

Mom obviously tried very hard not to smile in amusement. So did I. Neither of us entirely succeeded.

"And you're going dress shopping with Chloe Sullivan and her father. Not with me," Mom finished sadly. "I was hoping to go dress shopping with you."

"Well — you can come with us!" I said earnestly.

"With all that Mr. Sullivan has offered? No, that wouldn't feel right. Standing there watching while he pays for my daughter's dress would feel very uncomfortable," Mom admitted, frowning. "And you got onto both the dance and figure skating teams."

"Tryouts were a complete success!" I said proudly, and my parents smiled despite themselves. "I'm in Performance as a dancer; my singles style is Ballet/Modern and my couples style is Swing. And in figure skating, I went for Singles. Both teams practice twice a week."

"And then after all that, you saved Lex Luthor's life." Mom shook her head and sat back. "That is one hell of a day. Would it make any difference at this point if we said we're really proud of you?"

"Because we are," said Dad. "Really proud of you."

I smiled shyly. "… Thanks," I said, feeling all happy and glowing.

Suddenly, we saw headlights and heard a car park outside. We all went to the back door, and paused in surprise. Dominic was standing there, a beat-up old car behind him. "You're okay!" was the first thing that flew out of his mouth when he saw me.

We stared.

"Sorry, I — I guess this seems weird," he realized. "It's all over town that Lex Luthor hit you with his car. Some people are saying you saved his life. Other people are saying he killed you. I didn't know what to believe, and you weren't answering my texts, so I kind of — looked you up." He shifted uneasily on his feet, as if suddenly realizing how this looked.

I smiled. "To make sure I was okay."

"Well, yeah. To make sure you weren't _dead,"_ he muttered, shuffling his feet.

Dad looked at my face — took a deep breath, a wry expression on his face, and crossed the yard to shake Dominic's hand. "Dominic? I'm Jonathan Kent — Alice's father. And I guess I can wait for the night of the dance to give you the talk."

"Uh — yes, sir," said Dominic slightly nervously, shaking the hand.

"Come on," I told Dominic, smiling and feeling suddenly spontaneous. "Follow me. I have a loft up above the barn out back."

"Alice!" Mom called in surprise, half-laughing in her shock as Dominic immediately followed after me.

"I'm just showing him the loft, Mom," I said, mischief in my voice.

-

There was indeed a loft, my own personal space, up above the floor of our barn. Up the stairs, one came upon a soft beige sofa lined with colorful Boho style pillows. It sat on a soft, round dark rug and had a coffee table in front of it. Potted plants were all hung around an equally colorful Boho-style hammock in a corner, hanging from hooks on the barn ceiling. Pasted across the walls were large, blown-up, vivid astrophotography photographs, of phenomena all across space.

And sitting by the window looking out over the back fields was what had obviously taken all the pictures: a camera on a tripod mounted and connected up to a bronze telescope.

"Whoa. This is incredible," said Dominic in genuine awe as we entered the space in the moonlight. I flipped on a little light switch in the corner and smiled.

"Thanks. My Dad built this for me years ago. He calls it my Fortress of Solitude." I smiled when Dominic let out a chuckle.

"And this?" he said, pointing at the photos and then the camera on the telescope.

"One of my hobbies. Astrophotography," I said, coming to stand beside him by the window. "I like coming up here with a thermos of hot cocoa, just laying on my back and taking photos of the stars. The air and the sky are so clear out here. It would be crazy not to take advantage of it. Space fascinates me. It always has. I don't know, I love the stars. There's so much promise up there, you know? So much we don't understand yet. I look up at the night sky and I wonder — all the time. I like taking pictures because I like the challenge of trying to transfer that wonder to someone else."

"Well, you definitely do that," said Dominic, sounding impressed as he walked the walls, looking at the prized photos I had on display.

He saw me look pensive and came over to stand above me again in the frame of the window. The moon and starlight filtered down on our little place in my loft.

"… Are you okay?" he asked me in a low voice.

"I…" It was the first time someone had asked me that. I considered all my possible answers: _I'm supposed to be dead. I don't understand what's happening to me. I feel like a freak. I just performed mouth to mouth on one of the richest men in Metropolis City._ I looked up at Dominic and smiled tremblingly. "I'm a little shaken up," I admitted softly. "I just need someone to —,"

And then Dominic leaned forward, his eyes fluttering shut, and he kissed me. My eyes fluttered shut as well as I dove into the sensations. It was my first kiss. And it was… soft, tender, careful, shy, uncertain, caring, and maybe a little mournful. The starlight and the shine of the moon poured down around us through the frame of the window. Eternity was encased in what was probably only a few seconds.

Then we pulled back and smiled at each other shyly — even Dominic looked unsure of himself.

"… Was that okay?" he asked, because we were only fifteen.

"That was great," I assured him, grinning like an idiot, because we were only fifteen.

Then I took him by the hand.

"Come on."

I kneeled over a certain corner and turned on my stereo system to a soft love song. _"Salt air, and the rust on your door. I never needed anything more. Whispers of, 'Are you sure?' 'Never have I ever before.' But I can see us lost in the memory. August slipped away into a moment in time — 'cause it was never mine. And I can us twisted in bedsheets. August slipped away like a bottle of wine — 'cause you were never mine."_

I led him to the hammock. We cuddled there inside it for a good half an hour, rocking softly back and forth. Dominic kept trying to tickle me in sudden fits of mischief, and I kept giggling, and that wasn't like me at _all,_ but I couldn't help it, I was just so — a lot of things. So many strong emotions.

But, _happy. Happy_ was definitely up there.

Finally, I whispered reluctantly, "Come on. Before my parents find us up here." I gave him one last mischievous kiss and then darted away from him, across the loft. He grinned and followed me.

We paused outside his car out on the long dirt lot. He took me in his arms, kissed me once, careful and tender. "See you at school, superwoman," he whispered teasingly, and I grinned. He got into his car, and I watched smiling as he drove off.

Then I walked back into the house, noticing in amusement when the kitchen window curtains suddenly flicked shut as I walked in. "Nice job not spying on me," I congratulated my parents in amusement as I came through the kitchen.

"You're awfully cheerful. When have you done with my teenage daughter? You know — moody, brooding, lives upstairs?" said my Mom.

"You were up there an awfully long time!" Dad called as I made for the stairs.

"Yeah, he wanted to see my telescope." I waved airily, having suddenly grown a sense of humor.

Dad practically spat nails. _"Your telescope —!"_

"Relax, Dad." I looked back over my shoulder and grinned, wrinkling my nose playfully. "All he did was kiss me." Then I ran up the stairs towards my bedroom before they could say another word.

There was a lot that was unresolved there from today, a lot of weird worries and fears from my time with Lex. But mixed up with all those feelings was a certain sense of exultance.

And that was how I ended the very first day.


	6. Dress Talk

Chapter Six: Dress Talk

"So," said Chloe, as we walked off the Smallville High campus towards the school parking lot the next afternoon, "heroic savior of my father's incredibly rich boss or not… it's time for you to go dress-shopping with me."

"It is," I said positively with a smile.

That was when her Dad pulled up in his car. He grinned through the open window, slightly overweight and slightly balding, brown-haired, in a button-up shirt. He looked almost nothing like Chloe, but the same friendly grin was plastered over his face that she always wore. "Get in, losers! We're going dress-shopping!"

 _"Dad,"_ Chloe groaned, as I started laughing despite myself. "Don't encourage him," she muttered to me as we got in beside each other in the back of Mr. Sullivan's car.

The afternoon was incredibly fun. Chloe and I kept fiddling with the radio, singing loudly along to different lyrics, gossiping about girls, chatting about guys, wondering how lame the dance was going to be.

We got to the nicest local dress shop in Smallville, a relatively small and humble affair filled with racks of very nice dresses — expensive by Smallville standards. There was a dressing room in the very back. "Welcome! How can I help you?" said the woman at the counter, middle-aged and slightly overweight with neat, shoulder-length brown hair.

"These two have dates to the dance," said Mr. Sullivan, waving to me and Chloe. "They're looking for dresses."

"Well, wouldn't you know it? Lana Lang came in here with her aunt just yesterday. Such a beautiful girl. They picked her out a pink ball gown. Can you believe that?" said the clerk, making conversation.

Chloe and I shared a wry, amused look.

"Can I believe that of the future Homecoming Queen, head of the cheerleading squad, dating senior star quarterback Whitney Fordman, tragically orphaned and raised by her Aunt Nell, one of the wealthiest women in the county, owner of an entire stable of purebred white horses?" said Chloe dryly.

"Yeah," I finished. "I think I can."

"Well, what I offer in this store, if you buy a dress," said the clerk, "is that, if this is your very first dance, as you try on dresses I will fashion you a fake cloth flower of your choice. The band on the flower wraps around your wrist, and you can wear your favorite flower to your first dance. Lana Lang chose a red rose. Do you want to take me up on my offer?"

"… Can you make purple galaxy flowers?" said Chloe hopefully.

"I certainly can," said the clerk. She turned to me. "What about you?"

"White lilies," I said with a shy smile. "I love white lilies. My Mom has her own garden, so there is always a vase full of them in my bedroom."

"Do you know, Lana Lang's Aunt Nell runs a flower shop, and that's what she said about red roses," said the clerk with a smile. "Okay. A purple galaxy flower and a white lily, coming right up. Have fun shopping and let me know if you have any questions!"

Chloe and I had fun picking out dresses together. We gave each other advice on different dresses we picked off of the racks, then took turns in the dressing room, coming out to show off for each other. The other person would always give advice, maybe critique. We had a perhaps unhealthy amount of fun trying on dresses we knew we'd never buy, like it was its own little costume party, and Mr. Sullivan took many enthusiastic pictures of the two of us doing funny poses together in ridiculous gowns.

Finally, we made our own genuine choices. Chloe chose a thigh-length little purple dress complete with a silky purple shawl and elbow-length purple gloves. She tied the first strands of her short blonde hair back behind her head in a butterfly barrette. She chose purple strappy heels.

I chose a stream-lined, sleek, classic shoe-length red and black gown, off the shoulder. My black hair was done up classy all around my head in quiet black and white flower clip ornaments. I had a tiny black hand purse as an accessory to put makeup and perfume in. I chose simple black pumps.

The clerk finished our flowers. I put the white lily around my wrist. Chloe put the purple galaxy flower around hers.

Mr. Sullivan took a final picture of the two of us posing elegantly, smiling mysteriously, in our new hair, dresses, shoes, and accessories. Each of us had a single wrist hung elegantly, showing off our flower, and we stood back to back in front of the dressing room.

Mr. Sullivan immediately texted all the pictures to both of us, and I immediately texted all the pictures to my parents back at home. I only put a caption on the final photo: _Our night-of-the-dance final choices,_ I typed, sent the text, and then closed my phone and put it away.

"I'm buying you these dresses, not renting them," said Mr. Sullivan with a kind smile. "I believe every girl deserves to keep her first dress."

We got dressed back in our street clothes, and stood back from the clerk's desk beaming as Mr. Sullivan paid for our choices, including the hair ornaments, shoes, and accessories. It was really generous of him, and I couldn't help but lean towards Chloe and whisper, "Why are you always complaining about your Dad? He's great!"

"I could say the same thing about your parents," she said with a wry look. "Pot, kettle, black, Alice."

Mr. Sullivan turned, smiling, and handed us our bags. "Let's drive you home," he told me kindly. "I'm sure your parents can't wait to see what you picked out in person."

The fact that we took liberal amounts of photos of that afternoon has always interested me, and I still have them. I take them out and look at them from time to time, because they are photographic evidence of the last few hours in which I was still under the delusion that I was human.


	7. Alien Girl (Too Pretty)

Chapter Seven: Alien Girl (Too Pretty)

Mr. Sullivan slowed down and parked in the back lot between the barn and my house. I got out of the car, holding bags and boxes, and waved to Chloe and Mr. Sullivan, smiling. "Thank you again! See you at school tomorrow!"

They drove away in a cloud of dust. I hurried inside the house, put my things on the kitchen table, and then jogged at human speeds back out towards the barn. And there, I paused. I was surprised to find a beautiful, very expensive, white purebred riding horse tethered next to our barn. The kind of riding horse Lana Lang might own. The kind that said "sports car" for a girl in a rural place as tiny as Smallville.

I asked my Mom, who was working on a tractor nearby, "Hey, Mom, whose is that?"

"Yours," she said, standing and handing me an envelope. "It's a gift from Lex Luthor."

I took a beautiful, monogrammed purple envelope and opened it up to find a handwritten note in beautiful, trained Italic writing on the inside.

_Dear Angel,_

_I'm working on a private training ground for you to ride in, but this is the start. Enjoy yourself._

_Always in your debt,_

_The Maniac in the Porsche_

I stared up at the horse. "I don't believe it," I said slowly. I walked slowly up to the opening in the barn where the riding materials were always stashed. "Hey, Mom, where are all our saddles and reins?" I looked up, confused. The space was empty.

"Your father has them," she said in a warning voice, nodding to where my Dad was working particularly viciously on a wood chipper out on the barn floor, as if it could take care of all his problems. A sinking feeling in my stomach, I walked towards him.

He turned off the wood chipper, taking off his noise cancelers and his goggles. "I know how much you want it, honey, but you can't keep it," he said, and then he had walked past me and it was like that was the end of the discussion.

"Why not?" I demanded, whirling around to face my father. "I saved the guy's life!"

"So you think that deserves a prize?" said my father disapprovingly. "Is that why you did it?"

"No! That's not what I meant, and you know it!" I said, annoyed.

"Look, I don't like this," he said testily, pointing behind himself at the horse. "He sent that gift to a fifteen year old girl."

"Dad, it's not like it's a cocktail dress and a diamond necklace. It's a fucking horse," I said, getting angry myself.

"And do you have any idea how much that fucking horse costs?" my Dad demanded sarcastically. "A cocktail dress or a necklace that wasn't made of diamonds would probably be cheaper. And I saw that damn letter. He called you Angel."

"It's an inside thing… He's joking!" I said, throwing out my hands. "He woke up and he thought he was dead. He's _kidding."_

"Honey, I love you, but you have a lot to learn about men, especially from the kinds of places Lex Luthor is from," said my father, shaking his head.

Mom walked forward to join Dad in the conversation. "Alice," she said, "when I tell you that you're pretty… You do realize that I'm not just saying that because you're my daughter, right? You need to understand that. You are… in a way that goes beyond sexuality, beyond reason, beyond normal human nature… you always have been beautiful. It was another gift you were born with. And you have a kind, compassionate nature, and… you calm people down. I don't know how to explain that. You just do.

"Hey. You have eidetic memory, right?"

"Yeah," I said slowly.

"You remember that old movie _500 Days of Summer?_ What does the narrator say after the first time Tom meets Summer?"

I paused and played back the movie in my head. "There's only two kinds of people in the world. There's women, and there's men. Summer Finn was a woman. Height: average. Weight: average. Shoe Size: slightly above average. For all intents and purposes, Summer Finn: just another girl. Except she wasn't. To wit, in 1998, Summer quoted a song by the Scottish band Belle & Sebastian in her high school yearbook. 'Color my life with the chaos of trouble.' The spike in Michigan sells of their album 'The Boy with the Arab Strap' continues to puzzle industry analysts. Summer's employment at the daily freeze during the summer of her sophomore year coincided with an inexplicable 212% increase in revenue. Every apartment Summer rented at an average rate of 9.2% below market value, and her roundtrip commute to work averaged 18.4 double-takes per day. It was a rare quality, this Summer Effect. Rare, yet something every post-adolescent male has encountered at least once in their lives. For Tom Hanson to find it now in a city of 400,000 offices, 91,000 commercial buildings, and 3.8 million people — well, that could only be explained by one thing: Fate."

Mom just looked at me. "… You need to understand, early on in life," she said, "that you're an example of the Summer Effect. And people are going to treat you differently because of it. And people are going to think that about you. Even when it's not true, and fate has nothing to do with it.

"Okay?"

"That's… what, you're saying that has something to do this?" I demanded. "Come on, that's creepy, it's — that's impossible! Why are you two suddenly walking around like I'm this beautiful angel sent down from Heaven? You've never acted like that before!" I shouted, fists clenching. "You've never been afraid of whether or not I'm too pretty!"

"And _you_ have never been outside of _Smallville, Kansas_ and your friendship with a round-faced nerd named Pete from a three generations old Smallville family, whose mother is a goddamn _judge._ Until yesterday, Alice, the biggest thing I had to worry about when it came to you and boys was the senior star quarterback on the small-town high school football team. Okay?!" My Dad's eyes were flashing, and yeah, there was no mistaking it. He was actually angry. "And now not only are you dating a guy in a rock band from Italy — which I tried to get past — but a man in silk dress casual clothes, black leather driving gloves, and a brand-new Porsche is sending you expensive gifts and notes calling you Angel. He's from one of the wealthiest and rumor has it one of the worst families in all of Metropolis. So you're going to have to excuse me if I'm having a little trouble adjusting!"

"So if I were a butt-ugly guy, could I have the horse?" I demanded angrily.

 _"No,"_ said Dad firmly.

"Why not?!" I demanded. "It's not like the Luthors can't afford it!"

"And do you want to know why that is?!" Dad shot back. "Do you remember Mr. Bell? We used to go fishing on his property? How about Mr. Guy? He used to send us pumpkins every Halloween? Well, Lionel Luthor promised to cut them in on a deal. He sent them flashy gifts, just like this one. And then, once they'd sold him their property, he went back on his word — and he had them evicted. They were homeless. Because they had trusted the wrong man."

"So you're judging Lex based on what his father did?" I asked.

"No, Alice, I'm not. I don't think Lex is here to try anything of the kind. I just want you to know where the money came from that bought that very lovely horse now tied to the front of our barn." And Dad pointed with finality out the barn door.

The worst part, the part that made my teeth grind with helpless fury? I couldn't say anything to that. It was actually a good argument.

I whirled around and stalked up the stairs towards my loft.

There was a pause and then I heard Dad walk after me. "Alice, honey —,"

I whirled around on the stairs. "I want to be alone!" I snapped, feeling very fifteen.

"Alice, I know you're upset," he overrode me. "Honey, but it's normal —,"

And that was it. That was the final straw that undid me. See, no matter how emotionless I acted on the surface, there was a seething sea always writhing underneath. And sometimes holding it all back became too much.

And then I exploded.

 _"Normal?!_ You want to see normal?! You want me to show you —?!" And then, bright and cheerful to hide my own fury, I threw my stuff down and stormed down the stairs past my father, who just managed not to reach out and grab me in time. I went over to the wood chipper, turned it on, and said, "How about this? Is this normal?!"

And I stuck my arm in the wood chipper, all the way up to my elbow.

 _"ALICE!"_ He ran over to me, pulled my arm back out, and saw — a perfectly healthy arm. Not even a scratch on it. And a broken wood chipper.

He stared up at me, and I saw the beginnings of very normal human fear in his eyes.

"I didn't dive in after Lex's car," I began in fury. "It hit me at over sixty miles an hour. I've been wondering for the last twenty-four hours why I'm not _dead._ Does that sound normal to you?! My tantrums as a toddler used to put holes in the walls. I've been able to lift bed frames and cars for as long as I can remember. I can run so fast that the entire world slows down, and then it just _stops._ I can remember everything I've ever seen — perfectly — except for the first three years of my life, which are completely blank. I've taught myself five languages. Sometimes you guys tell me to do worse in school so my scores don't start to look suspicious. Once my math teacher was talking about hypothetical scenarios in higher-level mathematics class — I gave an answer off the top of my head without thinking about it, and my teacher asked me how I'd broken into NASA's computer system. I have never been to see a doctor in my life because you guys won't let me near one. I can't pierce my ears because my ears break the piercing gun. I can grown and lengthen my own hair at will, and it's a damn good thing, because my hair breaks scissors.

"I had to learn perfect control over my own vaginal strength, even in desperate circumstances. Do you remember why? It's because I had to figure out how to stick a tampon up my vagina without crushing it into about a million little pieces, which is so horrific it's actually funny. And _that_ — that alone — is the only reason I am ever going to be able to have sex with a human male, which is not your territory, but I thought you should know in case Mom hadn't already told you. Every time you come in asking us about what we're doing when we're having a talk like this, she says, _If you don't leave I promise I'll tell you,_ so it just occurred to me — you might not even know!" I laughed sarcastically to myself. "You might not know that the first time I tried masturbating, I accidentally yanked a piece of wood out of my bed frame with the tips of my fingers! You might not know that I'll never be able to _touch_ a boy when I have sex with him, because if I lose control and I orgasm at the wrong moment, I could kill him!" I was still laughing sarcastically to myself, tears in my eyes. "It just occurred to me — you might not know! It might never have occurred to you.

"You want to know what my morning ritual was, every morning for two years? I would wake up, I took a shower, I brushed my teeth, I got dressed, I put on my makeup. And then I sat down and I started looking up new articles on my laptop. See, for about two years I checked every single day to see if the news had registered anyone out there — anyone at all — who was even remotely close to what I could do. And there never was! There's fucking no one! It's like I'm the only _thing_ like me on the planet." Now there were tears in my eyes, angry ones. _"Why_ am I the only one like me on the planet?

"So no offense, Dad, because I'm usually happy being the weird one. God knows I'm used to it in school. I'm poor, I look poor, I'm not exactly part of the popular crowd, and the week after Chloe and I went to see a showing of _Rocky Horror_ in Metropolis City, I walked out to my car in the school parking lot one afternoon to find, _Goth Bitch,_ written all over my car in big red letters. And then I cleaned it all off before I got home so you wouldn't see. If I weren't usually happy being the weird one, there are a lot of things I'd have had to change about myself a long time ago.

"But please — _please_ — don't throw around the word _normal_ around me. Because nothing about this is _normal."_ Now I was speaking quietly, almost whispering, but there were still angry tears in my eyes. My Mom was standing behind my Dad by this point and they were both staring at me, wordless. "Do you know why I was so determined to join dancing classes in school?"

Dad shook his head, apparently unable to speak.

"It's because I've never been that good at it," I said softly. "See, usually, I can't play basketball or softball with the other kids because there's always a chance I could hurt them. Usually, I can't raise my hand in class because my answer is too perfect. But when I get out onto the floor, and I dance — until I practice I'm clumsy, and I'm awkward, and I'm awful. And for like _two seconds."_ I looked up at the ceiling, trying not to start crying, my voice thick. "For like two seconds, I feel just like everybody else. I feel normal. I feel _human._ And I _never feel_ human. And I'm _really sick_ of wondering why.

"And I guess." I raised my hands; all the anger had left me. A horrible, soft, pained smile filled my features. "I guess I just… I'm supposed to be dead. And I'm not. And I guess this just really wasn't the day to call _any fucking part of my life!"_ The words rang out, one last shot of anger, and I was taking deep breaths. And then I finished, letting out a breath:

"… Normal."

And then I walked past them, up the barn steps and out of sight with my school bag. There was silence behind me — complete silence — and nothing moved.

-

By the time the sun had set and evening was growing around my loft, I had calmed down. I was starting to become begrudgingly embarrassed with how I had behaved, but I wasn't sure I was ready to face my parents and apologize just yet. So I sat in my loft, watching twilight grow out the barn window around me.

Then my parents walked up the stairs of the loft and sat down silently beside me. They did not look angry, or upset. Dad was holding something in his hands in a piece of old cloth.

There was a brief pause.

"I'm sorry," I said at last.

"No, Alice, _we're_ sorry," said Dad. I looked around in surprise. "You know how I got that telescope I gave you? I came down the stairs of the kitchen one day and it was just sitting there. My Dad had gotten it for me, as a surprise. It was a big spend for us. I wasn't sure why he'd done it. Then two weeks later, he was dead. Cancer. And I'd never known.

"I always swore I would never keep anything like that from my kid. But here we are." My father sighed. "It's time, honey. It's probably been time for about three years."

Now I was frowning, puzzled. "Time for what?"

"There's something we have to tell you. There's something we have to tell you, or no one will have to take you away from us," said Mom gently. "You'll leave, all by yourself, looking for answers we could have given you. And we don't want that."

"We want you to take a look at something. We think it's from your parents, your — your real parents," said Dad, and then he unwrapped the piece of cloth. Inside it was a strange, rectangular metallic tablet. Up and down geometric writing was inscribed all across the tablet. "Can you read it?" Dad asked intently.

"It — it looks familiar, somehow, but no," I admitted, shaking my head. "Should I be able to?"

Mom and Dad looked at each other. "We don't know," Mom admitted shrugging. "The only thing we could figure out is these numbers and letters in English down at the bottom of the tablet. See this date and time? We think that's the date and time you were born. So we know what age you are, and we know your birthday is February 28th, so that's when we've always celebrated." She smiled almost shyly. "In case it matters, I looked it up once and in our terms you would be a Pisces Sun, an Aquarius Moon, and a Virgo Rising. Very important for any teenage girl to know, I'm sure."

"Okay…" I said slowly, not sure why this was relevant right now. "Look, is this all a part of some weird and awkward attempt at reaching out? Because…"

Dad said, "Let me get to the point. We tried to decipher this tablet for years, figure out what it means. But it's not written in any language known to man. That metal is also found nowhere on the Periodic Table. That's a fancy way of saying it's not from our world, Alice."

"… What does that mean?" I said, giving my parents an indecipherable sideways look.

"Alice, your parents weren't exactly from around… here," said Dad, looking very uncomfortable.

"Where were they from?" I looked between my Mom and Dad, who both seemed lost.

Then Dad looked slowly over to the telescope — and then up at the sky beyond. I followed his gaze — and snorted. "What are you guys trying to tell me? That I'm from another planet?"

"Oh, really, Alice, is it so hard to believe?" said Mom gently, exasperated. "Your brain doesn't function like ours. I've even heard you make sounds I don't think a human could have with our vocal cords."

"And I suppose you stashed my spaceship in the attic," I said, still amused and skeptical.

"… Actually?" Mom and Dad had the decency to wince and look embarrassed and sheepish. "It's in the storm cellar."

-

Down in the shadowy storm cellar that night, Dad pulled a piece of tarp off of something in the corner. What was revealed was a tiny, child-sized spaceship, one with a metallic, rounded frontal piece for steering. It looked charred from entry and impact, but was made of the same metallic material as the tablet. It was undoubtedly far too intricate to be a hoax.

I backed up silently, my eyes widening as a kind of dreading realization began to creep in.

My Dad started talking, he and Mom giving me nervous looks.

"This is how you came into our world, Alice. Alice was the name we gave you. We… don't know what your original one was. It was the day of the meteor shower. Your mother and I had gone into town that day. Your mother wanted flowers. You know that red tulips have always been her favorites. So we stopped by Nell's flower shop, got some groceries, and then started the drive home. Way out in the middle of the fields, where no one was, driving back to our farm — That was where we were when the meteor shower hit.

"I suppose there's no point in denying that all the stories are true. It was… magnificent, terrifying, watching those meteors impact everywhere. Destructive. The town hall was in ruins, the county was without water for a week, people died. But we got something good out of it — we got you. Our truck crashed during the shower, turning over, and we blacked out. When we came to, there you were. Three years old, completely naked, looking exactly as you do now — pale skin, blue eyes, black hair. And you were just standing there by our truck, smiling at us.

"At first we thought you had just come from a dead family somewhere — you know, that you were a casualty of the meteor shower. So we picked you up, wrapped you in a blanket, and started searching around for where you might have come from — for your parents. We walked over the edge of a crater, and found that ship in the bottom, right nearby where you'd been. As far as we know, you're the only living being that landed with the shower. And your Mom said, 'Well, if she does have parents, they're definitely not from Kansas.'

"We were infertile, but we'd always wanted kids — your Mom especially. We've never hidden that from you. Your Mom wanted to keep you right away. I took a little bit longer to convince. But then I thought of what would happen if we gave you away to the authorities. I thought of the kind of life you'd lead, the kind of person you would become. If you were allowed to live at all. And at the end, I just… I couldn't do it. You were so obviously just this innocent three year old kid, a victim of circumstances. You ended up not even being able to remember the first three years of your life.

"And I just… I couldn't do that to you. So we forged your adoption papers, saying you're from a charity in Metropolis, and we kept you.

"Honey, are you… okay?" Dad asked tentatively. He and Mom were now eyeing me with concern, but my eyes remained locked, wide and silent, on the ship I had come in. I had not moved.

"… This isn't a joke, is it?" I said very quietly.

"No, Alice," said Mom very quietly. "We wouldn't do that to you. And it isn't."

"That's why I've never felt human," I said, numb. "Because I'm not." I stared at my hands — inhuman hands, as if I had never seen them before. "I'm not your daughter."

"You _are_ our daughter!" said Mom immediately, and she went forward and threw her arms around me in a hug, engulfing me with her usual scents of apples and cinnamon. "You _are_ our daughter!" She leaned back and smiled tearfully, putting her hands on the sides of my face.

"… Why didn't you tell me?" I begged. "Years ago? Why would you lie to me about where I came from? You're telling me the Metropolis story was never true? All that time, wondering why my parents chose a closed adoption, and they didn't — I landed here alone?!"

"We were trying to protect you," said Dad.

"Protect me?" And I backed away, almost pleading with them, though for what I didn't know. "Protect me from what? From growing up feeling like a freak? Like an alien girl?"

"Alice —," Dad held out a hand.

I turned away, my eyes squeezed shut, my fists clenched, a million emotions inside me. "I — I need to think," I said with unusual force. "I just need some time to think."

"… Okay," said Dad very quietly.

And then time slowed right down until it stopped. I speed ran away, tears blinding my eyes. To any ordinary human, it would have looked as if I had simply disappeared.

-

I went to the local graveyard. Maybe it was melodramatic, but I felt like mourning. Mourning for a life I would probably never have, people like me I would probably never meet, if they were even still alive at all. Why had they given me up? Would I have felt normal, growing up where I was from? Would I have felt like I… fit?

Moonlight shone down on the twisting moss and gravestones, on the fencing surrounding the graveyard, on the woods beyond. I was curled up below a marble statue of an angel, its wings spread out around me as if they were mine. I cried for a while. No one was there to see it, and I needed to vent my feelings somehow. My hair was loose, long, straight dark strands covering my tear-stained face.

Then I saw someone approach on a horse. They tied the horse to the fencing at the front of the graveyard, getting off, and approached through the entryway with a sprig of wildflowers. Was that… Lana Lang? Small and petite with straight, shiny dark hair, she looked not unlike me, but with almond-shaped dark eyes and tan skin. She usually dressed in soft, feminine sweaters.

I stood and there was a snapping of twigs. Lana whirled around, eyes wide and fearful in the gloom. "Who's there?" she demanded, sounding scared.

"It's me," I said immediately, in a flat facsimile of my usual voice. "Alice Kent."

"Alice? What are you doing, creeping around the woods?" demanded Lana Lang.

"You'd never believe me if I told you," I said honestly. "Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I'll go."

And, somewhat robotically, I made my way towards the exit out of the graveyard.

I don't know what made Lana have a change of heart. In a refraction of moonlight, she might simply have caught a very good look at my tear-stained face. But either way, she immediately stepped forward and her voice gentled. "Alice, wait." I stopped robotically, still looking blankly straight ahead of myself and not at her. "I just wasn't expecting to see anyone out here.

"Are you okay?" She sounded actually concerned.

"I'm crying in a graveyard," I said, turning to look at her. "Do I seem okay to you?"

"Hey. I'm here, too," she reminded me, gentle but firm.

"… Good point," I admitted. "So what's your story? Why are you here?"

Lana paused, as if considering her answer. "Can you keep a secret?" she said at last.

"Oh, Lana. You would not believe how much I am the Fort Knox of secrets," I admitted dryly.

"I came out here to talk with my parents," Lana admitted. I turned around to stare at her in surprise. It finally occurred to me, after all this time. Me aside, the only other person in my class who was adopted… was Lana Lang, who had been adopted by her Aunt Nell after her parents had died. Lana laughed nervously and squirmed underneath my surprised look. "You must think I'm pretty weird," she said uneasily. "You know, conversing with dead people."

"Lana, I've… seen some pretty weird things and I don't think you make the list," I said honestly. "Do you remember them?" I added gently, calm and quiet.

"… They died when I was three," she said, not really answering the question.

"I'm sorry," I said simply.

"It's not your fault, Alice. Don't apologize for something you didn't do," she said. Then she smiled. "Come on. I'll introduce you."

And with me following uncertainly behind her, she led me up to two particular gravestones, where she laid down her sprig of wildflowers. She knelt down before her parents' graves and I knelt with her. Lana Lang's parents had been named Lewis and Laura.

"Mom, Dad," said Lana, smiling. "This is Alice Kent. I know her from school." I stared, wide-eyed and uncertain, at the gravestones. "Say hi," she said, smiling and nudging me.

"Uh… hi," I said hurriedly, raising a hand.

Lana laughed at something I couldn't hear. "Yeah, she is kind of shy," she agreed with her dead parents.

And I realized something. I realized one of those "I'm growing up, I can't come back the same person after this" kinds of moments. Lana Lang, Who Was Perfect? She wasn't actually perfect. She came out here every night to talk with her dead parents. Not even because she could see ghosts, or anything that cool. But just because she missed them.

"… How should I know?" said Lana, still listening to a language I was not fluent in. She turned to me. "Mom wants to know if you're upset about a guy," she informed me.

"No," I said, shaking my head.

Lana paused — and then smiled. "Dad wants to know if you're upset about a girl," she teased me.

"No, uh — not that either," I said immediately, but I was smiling despite myself.

Lana laughed. "He has an interesting sense of humor."

I realized I was enjoying myself. Lana seemed more herself in this moment, without even her usual green meteor rock pendant necklace she always wore at school. She seemed natural, relaxed. I realized I liked her more that way.

"Seriously, Alice," said Lana, sobering. "Why are you out here?"

I considered what to tell her. "Lana… Do you ever feel like your life was supposed to be something different?" I looked up at the stars, contemplating. They held new meaning for me now that they hadn't before. "Do you ever do this? Wonder… if one thing had been different, if one thing hadn't happened… would everything be different? Would any of it have happened?

"Like, consider this. Supposedly there are an infinite number of universes in the multiverse, right? And there is every possible version of yourself out there — one in each universe. You ever… think about the girl who is living in the universe where _that thing_ never happened? You ever… wonder if she's doing any better than you are?

"I don't know if I'm making sense." I shook my head and looked back down at Lana. "Do you have any idea what I mean?"

"… Sometimes I dream I'm at school, waiting for Aunt Nell to pick me up," said Lana slowly. "But she doesn't come. My parents drive up. And they're not _dead,_ they're just… really late. Then I get in their car and we drive back to my real life in Metropolis." Lana smiled, and then the smile faded. "That's usually when I wake up. And for a full minute, I'm totally happy. Until I realize I'm still alone."

I thought about this — and then turned to the gravestones. "… What's that, Mrs. Lang?" I said, loud and pointed. I listened and then nodded, as if I were listening to a tone of great urgency. "Yeah, I'll — I'll tell her," I promised. I turned to Lana. "Your Mom wants you to know that you're never alone. That she's always looking over you," I said simply. "And she loves you a lot. And she always will, no matter what you do or who you choose to date. She says it's a parent thing.

"What's that, Mr. Lang?" I smiled. "Your Dad thinks you're a shoo-in for Homecoming Queen. I mean… everyone does." I shrugged, playful. "It's only special because it's from your Dad."

Lana laughed, her dark eyes joyful, happy and sad at the same time. "Did they really say all that?"

"Oh, yeah. They're quite chatty once you get them started," I said.

Lana and I smiled at each other, and I realized something surprising. I realized that of all the people in this entire town… the one who had ended up making me feel better was Lana Lang, who was not perfect — and I kind of liked her better that way.

"I was wondering if somehow Dominic Russo had done something to hurt your feelings," Lana admitted, and I paused in surprise. "It seemed kind of unlikely, but… I heard you were going to the dance with him." She shrugged. We were now sitting on our butts in the graveyard, talking to each other quite amicably.

"No, Dominic has been… great," I said fervently with a soft smile. "I think he's my first real boyfriend."

"That's great!" said Lana immediately.

"We, uh… we're hitting it off a lot better than we did when we were kids," I said, amused. "We've lived five miles apart our whole lives, but your aunt only ever brought you over for a play date once. And I —,"

"You took one look at my green meteor rock pendant necklace and then threw up all over my shoes," said Lana in amusement.

"Have I… said I was sorry about that?" I said, wincing. "Hey, by the way, where _is_ your meteor rock necklace?" I added curiously.

"I gave it to Whitney," Lana admitted, "to wear underneath his jersey."

I smiled. "You really love him, don't you?"

"I like him a lot. He makes me feel… safe," said Lana with a tiny smile.

It occurred to me that didn't sound like being in love. It also occurred to me that wasn't a _yes._

"That necklace," Lana continued, and I looked up. "I… I gave it to him because it's made from a fragment of the meteor that killed my parents."

I froze, my heart turning to ice. Suddenly, I could feel the burning of the graves I was sitting beside. "… Your parents died in the meteor shower?" I said slowly, a heavy weight settling in my stomach.

Lana nodded. "So much bad luck came out of it. I figured there could only be good luck left," she said. "Nell gave that necklace to me the day she adopted me, and she said that life is all about change. Sometimes it's painful. Sometimes it's beautiful. But most of the time it's both.

"Anyway, Whitney has a scout from Kansas State coming to the Homecoming Game. So I told him he could borrow my necklace."

"That's… sweet," I admitted, with a smile that was still troubled.

"Come on." Lana stood. "Since our houses are only five miles apart. We might as well walk home together."

I stood and watched as Lana made to leave the graveyard. "Hey, Lana!" I called after her, and she turned back to look at me, wide-eyed.

"… Thank you," I said, and I meant it. "And I really am sorry about your parents." _I didn't mean to do it,_ was the unspoken sentence at the end. _I can't remember anything. But God I hope I didn't mean to do it._

Lana smiled. "You're welcome. And stop apologizing," she ordered me playfully, and she walked out of the graveyard.

I paused — smiled slightly — and followed her.

We ended up walking back to her place beside her horse, laughing and chatting the whole way. Lana was less grating when she wasn't at school. Less perky and a lot more enjoyable. It occurred to me, bizarrely, that Lana might be as nervous in school as I was, and for the first time in my teenage life the world no longer revolved around me.

We stopped by the property's stables to put away one of Lana's horses, and then we walked up the grassy slope towards her lovely house.

"Thanks for walking me home," she said with a smile.

"Beats creeping around the woods," I admitted, and she laughed.

"You realize this is the longest conversation we've ever had?" she said. "We should do it again."

"… Yeah," I admitted slowly, surprising even myself, "we should."

"What are you two doing out there?!" We both looked around in surprise to see Whitney Fordman approaching from the shadows of Lana's porch to call out to us, grinning. He was the stereotypical small-town quarterback: tall, blonde, muscular, broad-shouldered, buff, and handsome.

I grinned back. "Your girlfriend and I just had hot, kinky lesbian sex out in the graveyard!" I shouted back, and Lana burst out in scandalized laughter. "What are you gonna do about it?!"

"That sounds like you, Kent, weird as shit," said Whitney, still grinning, and he came down the steps to punch me gently in the arm. "Might have to beat the crap out of ya."

I stumbled, and paused in surprise. I felt weak, nauseated, like I had around Lana as a kid. But it had only been as Whitney approached me.

"Whoa. Sorry. Don't know my own strength," he joked, steadying me.

"Stop shoving my new friend!" Lana told Whitney, and they both laughed.

I thought about it, and smiled. "Lana told me she let you borrow her necklace," I said.

"I tried to tell her I couldn't take that, but… she wouldn't take no for an answer," Whitney admitted ruefully, pulling the necklace out from underneath his shirt.

I looked at the glittering green meteor rock, smiling, amazed. In the weirdest way? It made sense. "It was the necklace the whole time," I realized to myself softly.

My nausea had never been caused by Lana Lang. I was not allergic to Perfect. I was allergic to the green meteor rock in her pendant necklace.

"Kent? Everything okay?" Whitney and Lana were now looking at me, puzzled.

"Uh, yeah." I backed up, grinning, suddenly on Cloud Nine. "You know what? I'm great." And the weirdest part? I actually was. "I'll see you guys later."

"Well, hey. If she's your friend now… Hey, Kent!" Whitney called, obviously trying to be supportive of Lana. "You're going with Russo, right? To the dance?"

I was puzzled. "Yeah!" I called.

"We're all going as a huge group. Do you guys need a ride? We can carpool!" Whitney called. "I mean, of course, there's the game. But then after that, everyone's going to go home, get dressed up, and then there's this…" He grinned, all quarterback. _"Fun_ pre-dance party we were all thinking of going to." Lana pursed her lips disapprovingly.

But this was high school, and it was social life, and for all I knew I would only get one chance like this.

"Yeah," I called, smiling. "Pick us up at my house. It's the next one five miles that way. That'd be great."

 _"Party!"_ Whitney hooted, and then he and Lana were up on the porch and out of sight.

I walked back towards my house with the biggest grin on my face.


	8. The Wall of Weird

Chapter Eight: The Wall of Weird

The next afternoon at school, Chloe approached me just before lunch. "Hey… Alice." She hissed it out in a whisper, looking around. "You got a minute?"

Chloe was being unusually shy and secretive, so I was curious. And anyway, I was alone, and I didn't have anything else to do. "Sure," I said curiously, and I followed her down a few hallways.

"There's something I want to show you," she said, sounding nervous. She stopped in front of what was the door to a glorified storage closet. "These are the new headquarters for the Smallville High _Torch."_ She opened the door and I followed in behind her.

Computer desks and printers were all crammed into the tiny space. But what made me go, _"Whoa,"_ and walk forward into the closet was what lay beyond the computer desks. Chloe had pasted up an entire wall full of newspaper and magazine articles on the strange, bizarre, and unexplained. And it was kind of magnificent to behold at first glance.

"That's what I wanted to show you!" she said immediately. "I just finished putting it up a couple of days ago, and I've been wondering when to show different people. See, Alice, this is a very personal and intimate part of my brain. It started out as a scrapbook, and… just kind of mutated.

"There's more here. Take a look." She waved me over to her laptop, where she went to a website and clicked. Immediately, a long ream full of hundreds of newspaper and magazine articles appeared on the screen. One flicked… to the next… to the next… Minutes later, the ream of articles still hadn't stopped. There were _hundreds_ of them.

"What is this?" I said, morbidly fascinated.

"I call it the Wall of Weird," she said proudly. "It's every strange, bizarre, and unexplained event that's happened in Smallville since the meteor shower. That's when it all began. When the town went schizo." She grinned and pointed at the ground beneath our feet. "If I am right," she said, "we are standing on the spot of the largest collection of unexplained and unacknowledged unnatural phenomena in the United States. Maybe even in the world. The whole habitat's infected with alien space rock that's not natural or indigenous to the planet, and wasn't even supposed to be here."

I sat slowly down at the computer desk, taking this in for several minutes in total silence. I looked over at the computer screen. It was still flicking through new, unseen articles. I looked up at the massive wall.

"… And you're the first one to put all the pieces together?" I said very quietly.

"I think I am," Chloe admitted.

I looked over at her and leaned forward. "What exactly is it that you think the meteor rock does?" I said intently.

"Uh, wow, that's a really serious question. Everyone so far has just laughed at me. But okay!" She raised her hands, her eyes lighting up with a new discovery. "Based on everything I've gathered? Here's what I think.

"I think this green meteor rock stuff… It can infect a human, but only when that human ingests or is penetrated by the rock. That said, this is super slick stuff. It gets in _everything._ I'm not sure any humans should even be in contact with it, and it's all over our town, which is just great. When the rock enters the human, it mutates them. It warps not only their body, but their mind. But here's the really interesting part. The way it infects the human is completely unique to that individual human. Somehow, this rock locks onto our deepest fears, our biggest insecurities, our darkest secrets, and it tortures us with a mutation that reflects those darknesses. I think it might even be able to give people powers. But there's a huge price tag. Everything from emotional instability to total, insanity-based psychosis has been reported from meteor rock infections. No one gets out in the same state they entered. It is freaky shit.

"I'm sorry." She laughed self-consciously, having sat down across from me. "Everyone so far — the principal, my Dad, Pete — they think I'm totally insane. Does this sound crazy? I promise I'm not —,"

"I believe you, Chloe," I said, lost in thought.

The meteor rock made me sick for a reason. It was almost like a kind of warning. A warning no one else seemed able to feel. And why would they? I was the one who had brought this here.

My fault. I had to fix it.

"That is great news!" she laughed, sagging in relief. "Thank God somebody does! Oh, you're the best, Alice!" She sat back, sighed and beamed. "You know what the sad part is? The really sad part? Because no one believes me, this kind of thing is happening to real people out there right now. And they don't have anyone in their corner. And neither does the human race."

"Yeah, you do," I said very softly before I could stop myself. They had me.

"What? Us?" She laughed, misinterpreting my answer. "You and me? We're going to grow up and save the world?"

"I — I don't know," I said, my thoughts racing, but I stood her up and put my hands firmly on her shoulders. "But Chloe. Can you keep looking into this? And the minute you find a development — could you come and tell me? I… want to keep following this," I said with deadly seriousness.

"Uh… yeah!" Her eyes lit up. "It would be great, having someone else to talk to about this!" She beamed at me.

I reached forward and I gave her a hug. I surprised her, I could tell. Then I pulled her back to look at her again.

"You're not crazy," I told her. "You might just officially have made smartest person I know. Stop apologizing for that. Okay? You've got to believe in your theories, Chloe, or no one else will. What did you say your life goal was again?"

"Investigative reporter," she muttered with a sheepish, embarrassed smile. "My hero is Nellie Bly. She faked insanity at the turn of the century just so she could be sent to a mental institution and report on what conditions were like from the inside. Her piece made her a national star. When I was a little kid, I wanted to be just like her."

"And you can be. But if a turn of the century woman had shared with somebody else what she was thinking of doing… would anyone have believed in her?" I said intently.

"… Alice Kent would have believed in her," said Chloe with a smile.

I smiled back, sadly, and hugged her again. "Alice Kent wouldn't have been there yet," I whispered. "Keep me updated." And I left the new _Torch_ offices, with Chloe staring after me in surprise.


	9. For Want of A Few Minutes

Chapter Nine: For Want of A Few Minutes

It happened because I decided to ride the horse Lex gave me one time — on my way to giving it back to him. It was going to be my only opportunity, and I decided I might as well take advantage of it. If Lex had given me a car, if I'd driven to his mansion and I'd gotten there so much faster, I might completely have missed something that happened just a few minutes later in the forestry surrounding his estate's grounds.

I was riding the white horse down one of these forest trails, the afternoon after the school day in which Chloe had told me about the Wall of Weird, on my way to return Lex's horse to him. And all of a sudden with a shout, a man stumbled his way out of the forestry and onto the trail in front of me, wild-eyed. I pulled my horse to a halt and frowned at him.

He was curious-looking — while he was obviously fit and muscular, he still managed to look tall, thin, lanky, and skeletal, a fact that was helped in no small part by the ghostly pale tinge to his skin. He had acidic green eyes, unsettlingly intense, and brown hair. I could see the outlines of old tattoos and even older scars on his frame. But his clothes were shabby, his hair wild and unkempt, his face careworn.

"… Can I help you?" I said, still frowning at him, puzzled.

The man looked at me blankly — then smiled a wide, unsettling, humorless smile and lifted his hands in the air. "I — I don't know!" he admitted. "See, the thing is, my working memory starts about three days ago. I have no idea who or where I am!" He waved his arms wide with a beam.

I got down off the horse, still frowning. "Well, I can tell you where you are. You're in Kansas. Smallville, Kansas."

"Smallville, Kansas?" He seemed to find this hilarious. "That's an actual place?" His tone was vaguely gleeful.

"Afraid so," I said dryly, amused despite myself. "You don't mean to tell me you've been wandering in the wilderness all this time? Amnesiac?"

"Well, no, there was a lot of _running_ involved." He was naturally expressive, perhaps to excess. "There was a train, and then another one, and then a car, and then —,"

"Sir, what are you running from?"

"I — I don't know," he admitted, and his smile became slightly more fragile.

"You… you sound like you're from New Jersey," I admitted.

"Do I?" he said, surprised.

"It's slight, but it's there," I said, now definitely puzzled, and more than a little concerned. "Do you remember your name?"

"… Jack? Jack sounds right?" His face was genuinely blank.

"… Jack," I said. "Well, Jack, my name is Alice. I live here — in Kansas. I guess I can help you —,"

That was when the other players arrived. With the roar of an engine, a very expensive car pulled up on the road behind us, having just made a turn. Out of it climbed two people. One was tall, slim, lithely muscular, with tanned skin and dark chocolate brown hair and eyes. He wore expensive suits with the casual air of someone who was used to them, and had an intense frown on his face as his eyes flicked between me and Jack, who looked lost. The driver was a dignified, silvery-haired elderly man in a suit not quite as expensive as his rider's.

"… What's going on?" said the younger man in a quiet voice.

"Who are you?" I asked just as immediately, placing myself between him and Jack, who looked vaguely surprised at this show of defense.

But the man looked surprised. "You… don't recognize me?" He sounded uncertain, and not used to sounding uncertain.

"No," I admitted, shaking my head. "I don't really follow the tabloids. Should I?" I added, feeling lost.

The man stared between me and Jack.

"… I don't recognize you, either, but right now I don't recognize anyone," said Jack with one of his wide, unsettling smiles, waving his hands in the air again.

"This is Jack. He's an amnesiac who's been wandering I suspect cross-country for several days, and I'd sort of like to know what you want with him," I said, turning stubborn.

I saw frustration flash ever so briefly across the man's face. Then it was like it had never existed, and a big, slightly vacuous smile came over his face. "Bruce Wayne. Very old Gotham City family, I assure you, obscenely rich. I was actually here to go cliff-jumping —,"

"Cliff jumping?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Just as a silly diversion," he said dismissively. "But, uh — seem to have gotten lost!" He shrugged and laughed. "You said he's an amnesiac? We can take him with us. I'm sure we can drop him by the nearest police station. Good deeds, you know, they look great with the press."

"Uh-huh," I said slowly, interested despite myself as I took in Jack behind me, Bruce before me. "What if Jack was running from something for a reason?"

"… What?" Bruce's smile didn't flicker, but it suddenly became frozen.

"What if he started running because he has a lot of things he doesn't want to remember? Shouldn't it be up to him whether or not he's turned into the police?" I found myself arguing. "You're saying he shouldn't get the chance to reinvent himself — not even if he wants one? I believe him. He doesn't remember a thing."

"… And how would you know what he deserves?" said Bruce at last, and yes, that was definitely argumentative. Bruce Wayne didn't want to be annoyed by me, but he was. "Maybe he's running from the authorities. Or from a family he abandoned."

"Shouldn't he make the journey to figure that out for himself?"

"And what happens when he figures out who he used to be at the end of it?"

"You seem to know a great deal about this, Mr. Wayne, considering you just happened to stumble across him," I said skeptically. "You have no vested interest in this whatsoever?"

Bruce just looked at me, his smile tight.

"I think it would be best," I said, "if Jack comes home with me and my family. We have a little house that used to be for field hands out back. He can just use tha —,"

And indeed, Jack was watching Bruce with narrowed eyes, slowly sidling in my direction.

"No!" Bruce suddenly barked, and my eyebrows rose. Bruce was obviously making an effort to smile. "Please," he said suddenly, "call me Bruce." It was a nice recovery. "Because do you have room for one more?"

"You're supposedly from one of the richest families in Gotham and you want to live in my tiny little house outback?"

"I've always wondered what it might be like," he said with an icy smile, "being poor, rural, classless. It suddenly seems like the perfect place to indulge."

"Indulge." My eyes narrowed in annoyance. "Of course. And will your driver be joining you?"

"I am his butler, ma'am," said the older man suddenly, in a crisp English accent. "My name is Alfred. And yes, I believe I will." He, too, was eyeing Jack with cagey distrust.

I looked between Jack, Bruce, and Alfred. "Okay," I said loudly at last. "My name is Alice Kent. I live on a farm several miles away with my family. And you are all coming home with me, just because you're so collectively weird I don't trust you anywhere else. Are we all clear on that?"

"Perfectly," said Jack, nervous for reasons perhaps even he didn't understand, shifting on his feet.

"Completely," said Bruce with one of his icy smiles, and his eyes never left Jack.

"Absolutely," said Alfred, expressionless.

"Okay," I said slowly. It wasn't actually the first time my family had taken someone in temporarily. My parents would probably be okay with it. "Now, I have to stop by the estate of a very rich corporate magnate from Metropolis City named Lex Luthor. That's where I was going when — all this happened." I waved impatiently. "So I guess you're all coming with me."

"Lex? I know him," said Bruce suddenly, his eyes zeroing in on me. "Boarding school. Why are you visiting him?"

I sighed. "Because I saved his life," I explained, for some reason reluctantly. "He nearly ran me over with a car."

"Well, I'd definitely be going to visit him," said Jack sarcastically, with one of his wide, unsettling smiles.

I sighed, rolled my eyes, smiled. "He ran himself off a bridge into a river instead. Nearly drowned. I jumped in after him and saved his life. We said we didn't want a reward, but a day or two ago, someone from his estate shows up on my family's farm with this white purebred riding horse. So I'm riding it over to return it. My family and I kind of have this annoying little ethical problem with dirty money."

I saw something approaching respect cross Bruce's and Alfred's faces. I saw curiosity cross Jack's.

"Please don't tell me the Waynes are in league with the Luthors," I said, deadpan.

"Not even close, I'm pleased to say!" said Bruce with a cheerful smile. He was still reaching for the idiot, but he just didn't pull it off. Could have had something to do with the way I'd first met him. Irrationally irritating? Yes. Stupid? No.

"And I have no idea if I am, but a nasty little instinct is telling me I was no one important at all," said Jack with another of his expressive gesticulations.

"Well, Jack, that's not always a bad thing," I sighed. I saw Bruce look sharply, just once, between me and Jack. The smile, when it reappeared, was very forced. Alfred was still completely silent and unreadable, stiff and formal.

"So," I said with vague sarcasm, "shall we?" And I waved down the road in the direction of the Luthor estate.

"Why not?" said Jack gleefully, because this seemed to be his general attitude towards everything.

"Yeah," Bruce added flatly, his mouth for a second a grim line, "why not."

He got back in his car. So did Alfred. I got back on my horse. Jack walked beside me.

And a very odd assortment of people continued on their uneasy way to the Luthor estate.


	10. Friends

Chapter Ten: Friends

When we got to the edge of the estate, and I tied the horse up at the front gates, I rang the buzzer. No one answered. I frowned through the bars at the vast gardens and fountains I could see leading up to a sprawling stone mansion.

"If I may, Miss Kent, it doesn't look like he's at home," Alfred offered. He, Bruce, and Jack were all standing behind me, staring. "Perhaps you could come back at another time —,"

"Oh, fuck that noise," I said, and squeezed myself through the bars onto the estate. "Follow me if you're coming!" I snapped over my shoulder, and then I started down the gardens towards the mansion.

"She doesn't listen any better than you, sir," I heard Alfred say dryly to Bruce, and then I heard all three people follow me. "I believe this is called breaking and entering," said Alfred to no one in particular.

"It is," Bruce confirmed.

"He's got to be in here somewhere," I said stubbornly. "And I'm going to find him!"

"I like her," Jack offered suddenly.

"That's disturbing," I heard Bruce mutter to himself.

I got to the front door, knocked and rang. No one answered. Hesitantly, I pushed open the door and ventured inside. I found myself in an actual entrance hall, complete with paintings on the walls, chandelier, and sweeping mahogany staircase.

"Wow," I whispered, staring around myself. "This is the biggest building I've ever been in."

"Eh. It's not bad." Bruce shrugged and smirked, hands in his pockets.

I gave him a dubious look. So did Jack. "How rich _are_ you?" I said almost to myself.

Then I paused. I heard sounds coming from the Great Hall up ahead. The doors to the Great Hall were open. "Hello?" I called, walking in the direction of the Great Hall, the other three following me.

In the doorway, I saw an incredible sight. Two duelists in full white fencing gear were fencing furiously up and down the Great Hall.

 _"Fencing,"_ I heard Bruce mutter to himself scathingly.

"It's what normal rich people do, Master Wayne," Alfred informed him, as though this were a continuing conversation they'd been having.

"Be quiet, I'm trying to watch," I hissed.

"Yeah. Two people are trying to kill each other. Be quiet," said Jack with enthusiastic, expressive interest. Bruce gave Jack an odd look.

Suddenly, the female combatant pinned the man to the wall. She had won. She lowered her sword. The man paused, quivering in anger — then suddenly threw the sword across the room, seemingly right at me.

And, in the next second, I had found myself yanked out of the way of the sword in time. Two pairs of hands were on me. Jack and Bruce gave each other a bizarre stare, one holding one side of me, the other holding the other side. The sword embedded itself in the wall a safe ten feet away from my head.

"Nice reflexes," I breathed to the two men. Each slowly lowered their hands.

The man took off his helmet, squinting. It was Lex.

"Alice? I didn't see you," he said in surprise. Then: "… What is he doing with you?" He had given Bruce Wayne an extremely ugly look.

"It's a long story," I said, deadpan. "I happened upon them on the road. I seem to have picked up stragglers."

"Hi!" said Jack with a grin and a cheerful wave that somehow managed to come across as extremely disconcerting.

"Lex," said Bruce with a confident smirk, hands easily in his pockets again. "I believe you know my butler, Alfred." Alfred inclined his head, but if he had been reserved before, he was frigid now.

"That fits," said Lex darkly, staring cautiously at Bruce. "He always has managed to slither his way into wherever is most convenient for him."

"Is that what we're doing now?" said Bruce with a wide, practiced smile. "Trading childish schoolyard insults?"

It worked. Lex flushed.

"I… didn't know this would be a problem," I said slowly, looking between them. "Sorry, uh… I rang the buzzer, but no one answered."

Lex turned back to look at me, as if shaking himself. "How'd you get through the gate?"

"I kinda squeezed through the bars. Look, if this is a bad time —," I said.

"Oh, no, no. I think Hykia has sufficiently kicked my ass for the day," said Lex, walking over to the busty blonde woman who was his teacher and tossing her his mask. Then he walked past us, across the entrance hall and toward the staircase.

I followed him, pausing by the people beside me and saying, "Look, maybe you should wait here. I just have to tell him I'm giving back the horse. I'll be back in a couple of minutes. He seems kind of… touchy." Then I followed Lex further up the staircase, alone.

"This is a great place," I told Lex as I ascended the staircase behind him.

"Yeah? If you're dead and in the market for something to haunt."

"You could try sounding a little less rich around people who can barely make ends meet. You'll get a lot farther here," I said pointedly. He stopped, turned around and looked at me.

"… Sorry," he said at last, and he didn't sound like he was accustomed to saying it. "It's the Luthor Ancestral Home — or so my father claims. He had it shipped over from Scotland stone by stone."

"Yeah, I remember. Trucks rolled through town for weeks, but no one ever moved in," I said curiously.

"Oh, my father had no intention of living here," said Lex dismissively. "He's never even stepped through the front door."

"Then why'd he ship it over?"

"Because he could."

I pondered this as I followed Lex up the staircase again. We entered a room with sleek silver and black workout equipment in it. A roaring fire blazed in the fireplace. Lex took off his white fencing jacket, revealing a black shirt underneath.

"How's the new horse? I'm still working on her training ground," he said.

I felt a stab of regret. "That's why I'm here."

"What's the matter?" said Lex in concern. "You don't like it?" And he sounded genuine, as if a white purebred racing horse and her own private training ground just… might not be good enough.

"No, it's not that. It's a beautiful gift. I can't keep it," I explained. "She's tied to the front gates. I'm giving her back."

Lex paused, as if the idea of me turning down his gift had honestly never occurred to him. "Alice, you saved my life," he said disbelievingly. "I think it's the least I can do."

I looked down and away.

"Your father doesn't like me, does he?" Lex realized, his tone oddly flat.

I looked up and made to say something —

Lex held up a hand. "It's okay. I've been bald since I was nine. I'm used to people judging me before they get to know me."

Well, now I felt bad. "It's nothing personal. He's just not crazy about your Dad."

"Figures the apple doesn't fall far from the tree? Understandable," Lex admitted. "What about you, Alice?" he added wryly. "Did you fall far from the tree?"

I was to learn it was a very Lex Luthor way of asking me if I agreed with my father. But I couldn't answer that honestly, because I didn't know Lex.

"I'd better go," I said. "Thank you for the horse. I'll leave her out front for someone to get her. She's yours."

I turned and walked towards the door.

"Alice, do you believe someone can fly?"

I turned back to stare at Lex, who had a very strange, almost wistful look in his eye as he watched me.

"Sure," I said, puzzled. "In a plane."

"No, I'm not talking about that," said Lex, shaking his head. "I'm talking about soaring through the clouds with nothing but air beneath you."

I frowned, now definitely concerned. "People can't fly, Lex," I felt the need to remind him.

"I did," said Lex. "After the accident, when my heart stopped. It was the most… _exhilarating_ two minutes of my life," he said with feel. "I flew over Smallville, and for the first time, I didn't see a dead end. I saw a new beginning. Thanks to you, I have a second chance," he said, and he smiled softly at me.

I looked down, stunned by this raw source of emotion. When I looked up, he was right there, standing above me.

"We have a future, Alice," Lex said with intensity. "I know it. And I guess I just got defensive earlier because… I don't want anything to stand in the way of our friendship. Okay?"

-

Alfred offered to drive all four of us back to my farm in the car. I assumed it was okay. Lex _had_ recognized Bruce and Alfred, and Alfred was the one driving. I didn't think Lex, considering me a new friend, would let me walk away with a potential serial killer.

I only realized I hadn't said a thing since coming back down when Jack leaned over to me, in the back seat, and began poking me in the shoulder. "What's wrong?" he asked in a sing-song voice, leaning over and tilting his head with an unsettling grin.

"You haven't said a thing," Bruce pointed out stoically, looking between us in the back as if unsure what to do about this, and feeling slightly surreal.

"He… Lex told me he wants to be friends with me," I said, an odd tone in my voice. "It wasn't a bad reaction. But I'm not sure how to feel. And I don't know _why_ I'm not sure how to feel."

"Lex doesn't have a great history with friendships," said Bruce.

"What does that mean?" I asked.

Bruce shrugged. "Well, nothing criminal. Surprisingly, that's his business. I'm just… telling you, so you know."

I nodded slowly, troubled and thoughtful.

"Is that all he said to you?" said Alfred, speaking voluntarily for one of the first times.

"Yeah, that was pretty much the whole conversation," I admitted. "He went straight from 'you saved my life' and into 'now we're friends' and then he sent me away and that was an end to the whole thing."

"That's forceful," Jack admitted in surprise. "He sent you away?" He snickered. "What does he think you are, his peasant?"

I smiled despite myself, still troubled.

"Perhaps you don't know how to feel, Miss Kent," Alfred suggested, "because the entire point of the friendship was what you did for him. Not only did he not give you any choice in the matter… he didn't ask you about yourself."

"That could be it," I admitted. "He's good at advice," I told Bruce.

"Sadly, I don't follow it enough," said Bruce dryly.

Jack let out a little giggle and Bruce gave him a flat glare, but he still looked unsure what to do with him — and Jack still felt a little lost to me. Yeah. Definitely a weird energy.

"What would you have told him?" said Jack suddenly. "If he asked?" He sat back as if this were suddenly of great importance.

I thought about this.

"I'm on the dance and figure skating teams at my high school. My first boyfriend's name is Dominic Russo, and he's from Italy and in a rock band. I have an obsession with old Gothic books and movies. I love alt music. I try for most of my daily life to pretend I wasn't raised on a farm. I always dress like I just came off a skateboarding rink, and I love woody perfumes. I love astrophotography. I love white lilies from my Mom's garden and classic old dresses. There are a lot of things I could have told him. But he didn't ask," I finished simply. "That's the point." I suddenly pointed and said, "Turn up here."

A few minutes later, we were at the farm. We pulled up in the back dirt lot and got out of the car. Mom and Dad came hurrying out, frowning.

"You guys stay here," I told Jack, Bruce, and Alfred, and then I waved my parents with a pointed look back into the kitchen in the house. I told them about everything from my finding Jack in the woods, straight through into the drive home from Lex's mansion.

"Well, the fact that Lex Luthor doesn't know how to make friends doesn't surprise me," said my Dad darkly. "But you're sure you want us to take these people in."

"There's something weird going on between them," I said stubbornly, shaking my head. "And I wouldn't feel morally right letting them go until I figure out what it is. You're the one who's always telling me to follow my moral instincts."

"My own words coming back to bite me," said Dad dryly, as here and Mom shared a wry look. "Okay," said Dad. "Here's my deal."

A few minutes later, we walked back out to the dirt lot and my Dad approached the three men.

"Okay, gentlemen, here's the deal," he said. "The back house is yours. But while I'm sure you don't need the money, I wouldn't want you lazing around my property all day doing nothing. A little hard work is good for the soul. So if you stay here, you pull your weight around here. You ever been a field hand before?"

"No," said Bruce, staring.

"I'm pretty sure, No," said Jack, also staring.

"First time for everything," I said with a smirk. "Poor, rural, classless. I can feel it happening already."

Alfred, for the first time, looked amused.

"If I may offer, sir," he said, "my services might be better rendered inside the house. I'm quite used to cooking for and looking after a mansion. I think I can manage a farmhouse."

Mom and Dad stared at each other.

"We're never going to get that offer for free again," Mom pointed out to Dad.

"Fair enough," said Dad, turning back to Alfred. "Two new field hands and a butler. Look at how resourceful my daughter is in what she brings home." He smirked, clapped Jack and Bruce each on the shoulder, and walked past them. "This is going to be great."

I laughed at the expressions on Bruce and Jack's faces. Surprising me, my Mom and Alfred also let out a chuckle.

Then my cell phone rang in my pocket. I picked it up. "Hello? Chloe?" I said, putting the phone up next to my ear.

"Remember how you told me to tell you if I found out about anything meteor freak related? Can you meet me on campus in half an hour?" she said urgently into the phone.

"Sure, I'll be there," I said, and hung up. "I have to go meet Chloe at school!" I called, and ran off as everyone stared after me in surprise.

"Well, be back by seven! You have to get ready for that dance tonight!" Mom called, puzzled. "Dominic said he'll be by to pick you up at eight!"

"Yeah, and so will some other people! Don't worry! I'll be here!" I said, and sprinted at human speeds off and away.


End file.
